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COPYRIGHT DEPOSITS 



POEMS 



LINDLEY GRANT LONG 




Nineteen Hundred and Eleven 
Preits of United Brethren Publishing Route 
The Otterbein Press 
Dayton, Ohio 



Copyrighted 1911 

by Lindley Grant Long 

All rights reserved 



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111 



PROEM. 

These little winged creatures — 

Fond children of the brain, 
Begot in idle fancy, 

Yet born with anxious pain — 
Go forth with fear and trembling 

To greet the passers by ; 
Nor dare to hope that many 

Will harken to their cry. 



A father's tenderest blessing 

Goes with each wandering child ; 
For some are rude but fervid, 

And some are meekly mild. 
Forbear, O gentle reader, 

To do them smallest wrong! 
They come as bright winged angels 

To bear a modest song. 



CONTENTS 



^ Proem v 

A Vision of Love 9 

Drunkard Bill 10 

The Bridge Beautiful 12 

When the Rain Conies Down 15 

Feedin' the Hogs 16 

The Pall-Bearers 18 

A Dream of the Soul 19 

The Chestnut Hills 24 

Song of the Katydid 26 

The Over-Current 27 

Scarlet and White 32 

Life and Action 34 

Grandmother's Grave 36 

Little Violet 41 

The Cracked-Backed Lion 42 

The Common Man 44 

Strollin' Out Alone 47 

The Woman of Passion 51 

Mate of My Childhood Days 52 

The Lady From Bellaire 58 

A Morning's Ramble 60 

Only A Wandering Boy 63 

My Life — My Love 64 

Fair Gem City 67 

The Chained Goddess 68 

Winning and Losing 11 

That Old Dead Tree 78 

vi 



There's Nothin' Like Bein' A Democrat 80 

Eula 83 

Misunderstood 84 

Marguerite 86 

The Ravager gg 

The Maid and the Mermaid 94 

Angilena 95 

The Other Fellow 100 

Inwardness 102 

Marry the Maid of Your Youth 107 

The Realm of Fancy lOg 

Loved and Parted 110 

Freedom's Battle Cry 112 

Willie Sloppin' Th' Pigs 114 

The Maiden's Warning 116 

Never Trouble Trouble 118 

Misses and Kisses 120 

Night 122 

Rosalie 124 

Let In the Sunshine 126 

The Dying Old Year 12g 

The Girl In the Window 130 

My Wife 131 

Mother's Magical Garden 132 

The Sigh of the Demi-Monde 135 



vil 



POEMS 



A VISION OF LOVE. 

Last night there came a Vision ; 

Calm as the nesthng dove. 
A pure and perfect picture, 

Of humble holy love. 

A home of modest comfort, 
Bright with a hopeful cheer ; 

An air of sweet contentment, 
And kindness always near. 

A wife, a tender mother. 
Loving her darling child ; 

A father fondly wooing — 
As babe and mother smiled. 

It thrilled my heart with rapture ; 

My eyes, it dimmed with tears ; 
The Vision that came before me. 

Was the hope of coming years. 



DRUNKARD BILL. 

Tn a quiet country grave-yard 

Beneath the oak-tree's shade, 
By gentle hands and loving hearts 

The Drunkard Bill was laid. 

Over a mound of silent clay 

The tangled ivy creeps ; 
While at its head a marble slab 

Marks where the drunkard sleeps. 

The people say who knew him best 
That Bill was a drunkard born ; 

Through his mother's breast a passion swept 
Ere the child beheld the morn. 

Over his cradle the mantle of fate 

Suspended its folds of gloom; 
And through his life like a Nemesis 

Followed the shadow of doom. 



10 



DRUNKARD BILL. 

He lived and loved as others love, 

• 

A husband, a father, and all ; 
He tasted the sweetest cup of joy. 
While he drank the bitterest gall. 

That he was a drunkard all well knew ; 
But none knew better than Bill 

That the demon drink was his master- 
That he worked his master's will. 

Peace to his slumbering ashes ! 

Where thirst and passion sleep; 
Peace to the dust of a noble heart. 

That was born to break and to weep. 




11 



THE BRIDGE BEAUTIFUL. 

Hail, hail to thee, O marvelous Bridge ; 

Hail to thy master builder ! 
Hail to the workmen who wrought thee out. 
Who built thee beautiful broad and stout, 

Athwart the peaceful river! 

With eager eyes we saw thee rise, 

From thy bed beneath the waters ; 
Through autumn's storm, and winter's snow, 
We watched thy graceful columns grow. 
As fair as mermaids' daughters. 

Thy piers strike deep, thy butments sleep, 

Where dwell thy hidden powers ; 
From grout, and sand, and firm cement, 
From ribs of steel in rain-bows bent — 
Thy arches bloom like flowers. 



12 



THE BRIDGE BEAUTIFUL. 

We know the strain, the heat of brain, 
That wrought each bending section ; 

What cunning carved thy balustrade ; 

What magic hand upon thee laid 
The spell of art's perfection. 

Each rounding stroke in thee awoke 
Some new and wondrous beauty ; 
A rock of hope, a tower of strength, 
A perfect form complete at length — 
A child of faith and duty. 

Long mayest thou stand to bless the land, 

That gave thee birth and being; 
Whilst o'er thy bosom ebbs and flows 
The tide of human joys and woes — 
As time is swiftly fleeing. 

O giant Form ! Defy the storm. 

And laugh at floods and torrents ; 
Bear up thy burdens small and great, 
The endless streams of costly freight, 
That roll in ceaseless currents. 



13 



THE BRIDGE BEAUTIFUL. 

Like mountains old, with strength untold, 

Stand thou through ages hoary; 
And unto millions yet un-born — 
To hearts of hope in youth's bright morn. 
Reveal thy silent glory. 

Would I might be, O Bridge, like thee — 

A rock no time can sever ! 
Thy grace and beauty fill my heart; 
Thy firmness to my soul impart ; 

Thy peace be mine forever. 




^ 



14 



WHEN THE RAIN COMES DOWN. 

There's a sadness in my heart — 
When the rain comes down ; 

Just a wound from love's keen dart ; 

Yet I would not have it part — 
When the rain comes down. 



Oh, how sweet to sit alone! 

When the rain comes down ; 
Musing o'er the moments flown ; 
Dreaming of my love, my own — 

When the rain comes down. 

Though the day be dark and drear- 
When the rain comes down; 

Though his voice I may not hear; 

Yet in fancy he is near — 
When the rain comes down. 

Then I feel his eyes of blue — 
When the rain comes down ; 
Softer than the falling dew. 
Pleading: O my love, be true! 
When the rain comes down. 



15 



FEEDIN' THE HOGS. 

Show me a farmer 'n all this state, 

Who don't like to lean over the corn-crib gate, 

An' watch the hogs eat — early or late. 

Who wouldn't like to see 'em wiggle the'r tail' ; 
Move the'r ears up an' down, an' root th' rail ; 
An' blow thro' the'r snoots like a whale? 

Watchin' th' hogs cat's all the pleasure y' need. 
Who could enjoy any thing more'n a hog does 

feed ? 
For he's always hungry as a weed. 

A hog's never 'n any hurry 'bout gettin' through ; 
An' always takes plenty o' time t' chew, 
For he knows that's the thing t' do. 



16 



FEEDIN^ THE HOGS. 



Any hog can make a meal on corn; 
An' that hog has never yet been born, 
That don't Hke corn. 

A hog always bites two or three ears f 'r a test ; 
When they're all gone, he eats the rest — 
An' don't know then which's the best. 

When you'd think there's nothin' more on th' 

ground, 
Th' hogs still keep rootin' around, 
Till th' last grain's found. 

When a hog's done eatin,' he's done : 
Goes off t' sleep, or woller'n th' run ; 
An' thinks Hvin' is jus' fun. 




17 



THE PALL-BEARERS. 

Six strong men — we bore the bier 
Of a loving sister to one most dear. 

Simple and sad was the sacred rite, 

That stole from the home its angel of light. 

No empty appeal to the powers above; 
Only flowers and tears — the tokens of love. 



We followed the hearse to the green hill-side, 
i the ^ 
bride. 



Where the groom was waiting to welcome his 



We left her there in his arms secure ; 

Bride and betrothed — both sacred and pure. 



18 



A DREAM OF THE SOUL. 

'Twas on a balmy summer's day, 

Deep in the forest shade I lay; 
The spreading boughs above me bending, 
The sunbeams through the leaves descending ; 

The gray-squirrel springing, 

The red-bird singing, 
The cricket's voice kept ringing, ringing. 
The katydid where none could see. 
Sat high up in the locust tree; 
He chirped and chirped and sang with glee ; 
He sang and said with heart so free — 
It's all for me ! 
It's all for me ! 

'Twas on a balmy summer's day. 

Deep in the forest shade I lay ; 
The cooling breezes round me blowing, 
The cooler waters by me flowing. 

The turtle-dove wooing. 

The rain-crow cooing, 
The brooklet's voice kept suing, suing. 
The red-bird leapt in the leafy bough, 
He leapt and sang as he's singing now, 

19 



A DREAM OF THE SOUL. 

With heart so merry, so light, and free, 
He leapt and sang so lustily — 

It's all for me ! 

It's all for me ! 

'Twas on a balmy summer's day, 

Deep in the forest shade I lay ; 
Far into the blue sky peering, 
Saw the clouds their white sails veering; 

The sunlight streaming, 

The Heavens beaming, 
All around the bee-bird screaming. 
Atilt beneath the blazing sun, 
The buzzard reeled, his circle run ; 
And soaring, soaring, half unseen, 
His plumage bathed in silver sheen, 
His piercing voice, from echo free. 
So loudly shrieked, so earnestly — 
It's all for me ! 
It's all for me ! 

'Twas on a balmy summer's day, 
Deep in the forest shade I lay; 

So sweetly with my thoughts communing, 

My soul to Nature's soul attuning; 

And over broken vows lamenting; 

For all misdeeds alas! repenting. 

20 



A DREAM OF THE SOUL. 

Thoughts were rushing, 

Feelings gushing, 
My heart, my heart, was full and flushing. 
Thoughts had I of God immense. 
His justice and His providence; 
Thoughts of Nature broad and deep, 
Her honest laws, their endless sweep; 
Thoughts of man's high eminence — 
In God's design his prominence. 

Thoughts were rushing, 

Feeling gushing, 
My heart, my heart was full and flushing. 
Then over all my soul's dominion, 
Swept omens dark on evil pinion ; 
More indistinctly grew the maze. 
As inwardly I turned my gaze ; 
And deeper still the darkness grew 
That veiled the future's mystic view ; 
Confusion all and all was gloom, 
In contemplation of the tomb. 

Glooming, glooming. 

Sadly glooming. 
Sat my soul, itself consuming. 
Up I started, looked around. 
Heard again the mingled sound; 
Heard the robin in the tree, 

21 



A DREAM OF THE SOUL. 

Katydid and huming-bee ; 
Heard the cricket singing loud, 
Buzzard still above the cloud ; 
Heard the Voice of Nature free 
Sing in sweetest harmony — 

It's all for me ! 

It's all for me ! 

My sluggard soul aroused at last, 
Shook ofif the mantle of the past. 
It saw the proud pretensions rise, 
Of all that dwell beneath the skies ; 
It heard the vaunt, the lofty boast, 
Of Nature's wild unnumbered host; 
Then upward bound, on wings of fire 
It mounted higher, higher, higher, 

Till all below 

Of weal or woe 
Commingled in one common flow. 
Upon a plain of broader view. 
My narrow soul expanded grew; 
It saw the sweep of Heaven's deep ; 
It heard the roar at Heaven's door; 
On all below in sad dismay, 
It gazed and sighed — Ah woeful day! 
How poor is all that earthly be, 

22 



A DREAM OF THE SOUL. 

How freighted with mortality! 
How vain the vaunt, the lofty boast, 
Of Nature's wild unnumbered host! 

With faith to climb, 

And faith sublime, 
It leaped the broad abyss of time. 
It heard the music of the spheres; 
It caught the chant of all the years; 
Instinct with life, and scorninor death, 
It breathed a pure immortal breath. 
Attuned at last to harps divine, 
My soul did sweetest cords combine; 
It sang in tones so pure and free, 
Of Life and endless Liberty; 
Of Death destroyed, of Hope enjoyed, 
Of Heaven and Immortality. 
And in a grander, nobler strain. 
Its consummation did attain. 
In Harmony, in Harmony, 
In universal Unity. 
O, thus in notes divinely free, 
It sang and sang exultingly ! 
And this it sang triumphantly — 
Is all for me ! 
Is all for me ! 



23 



THE CHESTNUT HILLS. 

O, the hills, the hills, the beautiful hills ! 

Where chestnut-trees grow thickly ; 
I love to wander among the hills. 

And gather the chestnuts prickly. 
Among the hills, the beautiful hills, 

The heart of man beats lighter; 
The flame divine that burns within, 

Grows bright and ever brighter. 

O, the hills, the hills, the beautiful hills ! 

Where hearts are true and tender; 
Where love is ever a constant love, 

Though love's own thread be slender. 
Then give me the hills, the beautiful hills, 

Where love is faithful ever ; 
Where hearts unite in sacred plight, 

And none but death can sever. 

O, the hills, the hills, the beautiful hills ! 

What joy to roam them over: 
The tracks of God in the rocks to find, 

And Nature's breath in the clover. 
Then give me the hills, the beautiful hills. 

Where the gurgling fountain gushes ; 
Where woods are atune with musical rills,- 

The voice of a thousand thrushes. 

24 



THE CHESTNUT HILLS. 

O, the hills, the hills, the beautiful hills ! 

The home of heroic mothers ; 
Where noble sons of noble sires 

Lift up their weaker brothers. 
Then give me the hills, the beautiful hills, 

Where sisters sweet are smiling; 
The babbling babe in the cradle laughs 

The tedious hours beguiling. 

O, the hills, the hills, the beautiful hills ! 

The nation's pride and glory; 
They yield strong arms and noble hearts, 

And heads both wise and hoary; 
Then give me the hills, the beautiful hills, 

Where chestnut trees grow thickly ; 
I love to wander among the hills. 

And gather the chestnuts prickly. 




25 



SONG OF THE KATYDID. 

The Katydid sat on a bough, 

Singing his evening song; 
Each note welled up, a spring of joy ; 

He trilled it loud and long. 

He sweetly sang to the starry night, 
In tones of rapturous glee ; 

The music lingered on the air. 
His heart was full and free. 

He heeded not the swelling notes, 
That made the stillness ring; 

Through Nature's chorus runs a cord, 
Which he alone can sing. 

One voice thou art, O Katydid! 

Amid the countless throng ; 
No other task thou hast to do. 

But sing thy endless song. 



26 



THE OVER-CURRENT. 

Lo, behold the mighty Present! 

Mark the spirit of the time ; 
Hear the roaring Over-Current, 

Sweeping in an Age subh'me ! 

From the fertile womb of Nature, 
From the grand and hoary Past ; 

Spring the germs of things momentous — 
Bursting into life at last. 

Moving forward double crested, 
Mountain wave of modern Mind ; 

Bearing weal or woe to nations, 
Fraught with blessings to mankind ! 

From the fervid brain of Genius, 

Leap the thoughts that make men free- 
Miracles of great Invention, 
Working broader liberty. 



27 



THE OVER-CURRENT. 

In the chemistry of nature, 
In the deep electric power; 

'Bide the energies titanic, 

That evolve each pregnant hour. 

Greater steamships plow the ocean, 
Swifter car wheels sweep the plain ; 

And the world grows smaller, smaller, 
At each increase of the brain. 

In the towering combination, 

In the delicate machine, 
Lies the fate of distant ages ; 

And the years that flow between. 

Where the steaming jungle swelters, 
Where the arctic rivers roll. 

Men are toiling, men are moiling, 
Pushing on from pole to pole. 

Full abreast the forward movement, 

Labor marches in the van ; 
With the growing Federation, 

Dawns the Brotherhood of Man. 



28 



THE OVER-CURRENT. 

Building higher, building stronger, 
Are the workers of to-day ; 

Building out in wider circles, 
Building with a finer clay. 

From the joining of the forces, 
Brothers toiling side by side, 

Flows the civilizing current — 
Sweeping outward with the tide. 

Bidden by a world-wide commerce, 
While the lusty cannon roars ; 

Hoary nations halting, trembling. 
Open wide their rusty doors. 

At the rifle's ringing summons. 

At the warship's stern commands; 

Smaller states, and weaker peoples, 
Meet their doom at stronger hands. 

While the armors of the nations. 

Clash in universal strife; 
From the fierce and wild commotion. 

Springs a new and grander life. 



29 



THE OVER-CURRENT. 

Through the smoke of revolutions, 
Though the seething discontent, 

Lo ! behold the purer vision — 
Hopes of perfect government. 

Wider runs the magic circle, 
Of the mind's enchanted sphere ; 

Climbing mountain peaks of Science, 
Where the rifted clouds appear. 

Keener grows the penetration, 

Of the educated eye ; 
Piercing Nature's deeper secrets — 

Mysteries of earth and sky. 

Thrilled by some new inspiration, 
Frenzied by a faith sublime ; 

Great Religions rush together — 
Battling o'er the feuds of time. 

In the blood-red crucible 

Of all the world's contending Creeds, 
Fuse the best and baser metals. 

Flowing out in golden deeds. 



30 



THE OVER-CURRENT. 

'Mid the cruel clash and clans^or. 
Of a gain-besetting age; 

Moves the philanthropic spirit — 
Toning down the towering rage. 

Every race and every nation, 
Feels its inward impulse bend — 

To the Will of silent Forces, 

Moving toward some higher end. 




^ 



31 



SCARLET AND WHITE. 

She walketh the street in the dead of the night ; 

The voice of the city is still ; 
She walketh the street in the glare of the light, 
The shadows are dim but the arc burneth bright — 

She walketh the street with a will. 

She walketh the street with a dull heavy tread ; 

She selleth her body for gold ; 
The babe of her bosom, asleep in its bed, 
Is crying in dreams for a morsel of bread — 

She walketh the street in the cold. 

She walketh the street with a mother's despair; 

She traiileth her soul in the dust; 
She sees the child eyes and the beautiful hair, 
The smile on the lip, and the rosy cheek fair — 

She boweth her flesh to man's lust. 



Z2 



SCARLET AND WHITE. 

She walketh the street — 'tis necessity's call; 

She answers but knoweth not why ; 
'Tis I, it is you, O my Brother ! and all, 
Who builded the system that worketh her fall- 
But hear not the child's feeble cry. 

Most merciful Father, omnipotent God; 

Blight not the fair land of our birth ; 
But lay on this people thy chastening rod, 
Till every wrong perish that curseth thy sod- 

O make us a nation of Worth ! 




33 



LIFE AND ACTION. 

Action, action, life is action! 

Runs the current strong and clear. 
Life is action — earnest doing 

Of the endless duties here. 
Stop the wheel, the rust corrodes it ; 

Check the sap, the green leaf dies ; 
Cage the bird, the wild wing withers 

Droops to earth, and quits the skies. 

Action, action, life is action ! 

Lights the flaming forge of thought; 
Fires the brain, and guides the fingers. 

As each wondrous work is wrought ; 
Fills the earth with golden splendor — 

Fruit of genius, deathless art. 
Trophies rare of mind triumphant. 

Priceless treasures of the heart. 

Action, action, life is action ! 

Swings the burning worlds through space : 
Weaves the suns from fitful fire-mist; 

Hangs each system in its place ; 
Paints the rainbow's tinted crescent 

Round the evening's glowing spray ; 
Wreathes the brow of night with star-drift; 

Burst? the portals of the day. 

34 



LIFE AND ACTION. 

Action, action, life is action ! 

Swells in every note of spring ; 
Climbs to beauty in the rosebud ; 

Rustles in each passing wing. 
Rides the cyclone's mindless terror, 

Whispers in the plodding breeze, 
Rifts the mountain's boiling cauldron, 

When the earthquake shakes the seas. 

Action, action, life is action ! 

Round the earth in circles runs — 
In the mine, the field, the forest; 

Millions toiling with the suns; 
In the rumbling wheels of commerce ; 

Fleets that touch on every shore ; 
In the buzzing, buzzing spindle; 

In the cities' ceaseless roar. 

Action, action, life is action ! 

Moves the sluggard soul to climb ; 
Nerves the heart to deeds heroic ; 

Wings the mind to thoughts sublime. 
Deep in realms of pure existence, 

Spirits garbed in changeless youth. 
Onward, upward, strive unceasing; 

While Hope blossoms into Truth. 

35 



GRANDMOTHER'S GRAVE. 

By my Grandmother's grave in the church-yard, 
Lone I stand at the close of the day ; 

All around me lorn loved ones are sleeping, 
In the arms of the pittiless clay. 

On the panes of the meeting-house window, 
Dance the lingering rays of the sun; 

O'er the earth spreads a mantle of crimson, 
By the fingers of evening spun. 

Gentle zephyrs are mournfully singing. 
In the murky pines over my head ; 

And their voices are doleful and dreary. 
They are singing a dirge to the dead. 

At my feet blows a beautiful flower. 

Fairest token of heaven on earth ; 
Truest emblem of Christ's resurrection. 

Purest type of the Christian's new birth. 

From the bough of an oak-tree majestic, 
Swells the piteous moan of a dove ; 

Like the wail of a widow forsaken. 
As the grave closes o'er her last love. 

36 



GRANDMOTHER^S GRAVE. 



Slowly lengthen the shadows of evening, 

Till they silently merge into one ; 
And the moon sailing upward serenely, 

Softly bends back the rays of the sun. 

Still I stand by the grave deeply musing, 
With the mystical moon-light around ; 

And my soul it grows fearful and trembles, 
At each fanciful motion or sound. 

I bethink me there's naught that is harmful. 
To the soul that is trustful and true ; 

For the angels of heaven are many. 
While the spirits of evil are few. 

Now my mind wanders back in its fancy, 
To the days of my grandmother's youth ; 

When the forest crowned hill-top with beauty. 
And our God through all nature spoke truth. 

Though a buxom and blithesome young maiden. 
She was pure as the lilies in bloom. 

Passing strange to the gay girl of fashion. 
She despised not the wheel or the loom. 

37 



grandmother's grave. 



Rosy morn ever welcomed her music, 
Smiling Vesper gave ear to her song ; 

For of labor she never grew weary, 

But she sang and toiled all the day long. 

Well she learned from the books that she studied, 
From the birds, and the trees, and the flowers ; 

Of the goodness of God and His beauty, 
Of His works and His wonderful powers. 

Blushing maidenhood flees like a shadow, 
Sterner womanhood follows its flight ; 

And the soft rays of womanhood's morning, 
Are reflections of maidenhood's light. 

Bridal robes early decked her in beauty — 
Bridal robes un-assuming and plain ; 

For in harm'ny alone there is beauty; 
Simple beauty doth fadeless remain. 

Soon the bridal robe loses its luster, 
But the bride never ceases to shine ; 

And a heart full of tender affection, 
Is a husband's most sanctified shrine. 

38 



grandmother's grave. 



Yet a home with a wife not a mother, 
Is a home that is des'late and drear; 

But the babbhng babe is the blessing, 
That bringeth both comfort and cheer. 

O, could baby forever be baby ! 

And could mother be mother for aye ; 
Ne'er would bud know the travail of blooming, 

Never flower feel the thorn of decay. 

But the mind that made laws for the planets, 
Made the law of perpetual change ; 

And the cherry-cheeked babe and its mother, 
By the same law are fashioned — how strange ! 

Round the door of my Grandmother's dwelling, 
Played the hopes of a motherly heart ; 

And she tau,s:ht them the lesson worth learning — 
Honest toil is the noblest art. 

Soon the children she long loved and cherished, 
One by one from her door-way went out ; 

But her prayers and her blest benedictions. 
Ever followed their foot-steps about. 

39 



grandmother's grave. 



Cruel Time thou art ceaseless and soulless, 
Thou art pitiless, cheerless, unkind ; 

From the heart thou hast stolen its jewels. 

Rarest pleasures hast plucked from the mind. 

Though the mandates of time are relentless. 
Blooming cheeks change to furrows of care ; 

Yet, the soul's finer essence eternal, 
Fading not ever waxes more fair. 

When the sun-set of life is approaching. 
When the glories of evening draw nigh ; 

All the splendor of days of devotion. 

Floods the heavens with light from on high. 

As the star that adorns the fair welkin, 

Settles silently down in the west ; 
So the heart shedding love's richest blessings, 

Calmdy sinks into infinite rest. 

In the grave her cold ashes lie sleeping. 
In the grave her pale form meets the dust ; 

But on wings of a spirit immortal, 

She has flown to the home of her trust. 

40 



LITTLE VIOLET. 

Little violet — how I love vou ! 
Little violet — Heaven's above you ; 
Little violet, you don't know — 
You don't know how well I love you ; 
You don't know that Heaven's above you ; 
Little violet you don't know ! 

Little violet — breeze is blowing, 
Little violet — grass is growing; 
Little violet, you don't know — 
You don't know the breeze is blowing, 
You don't know the grass is growing; 
Little violet you don't know ! 

Little violet — birds are singing, 
Little violet — flowers are springing; 
Little violet, you don't know — 
You don't know the birds are sinsfine. 
You don't know the flowers are springing; 
Little violet you don't know ! 

Little violet — leaves are fallinsr. 
Little violet — Death is calling; 
Little violet, you don't know — 
You don't know the leaves are falling, 
You don't know that Death is calling; 
Little violet you don't know! 

41 



THE CRACKED-BACKED LION. 

You may roam o'er land and ocean, 
Steal away from all commotion, 

Search the jungle with devotion ; 

You may hear the wild beast cryin' — 

But you'll never find a Lion 
With a crack — 

In the middle of his back. 



You may study ancient sages. 

You may wander through the ages, 

Peering into all the cages ; 

You may hear the wild beast sighin' — 

But you'll never find a Lion 
With a crack — 

In the middle of his back. 



You may read the Sacred Story, 
Con the classic volumes hoary. 

You may trail with hunters gory ; 
You may see the wild beast flyin' — 

But you'll never find a Lion 
With a crack — 

In the middle of his back. 

42 



THE CRACKED-BACKED LION. 

You may ponder words prophetic, 
You may read the books poetic, 

And in vivid works aesthetic. 

You may see the wild beast dyin' — 

But you'll never find a Lion 
With a crack — 

In the middle of his back. 



You may search through every nation, 
There's but one in all Creation ; 

And our City is his station. 
Him the people keep a-eyin' — 

For he is the only Lion 
With a crack — 

In the middle of his back. 




^ 



43 



THE COMMON MAN. 

Not his the star-kissed peak of mind, 

Not his the glorious soul ; 
He dwells amid earth's common scenes, 

Where life's sweet waters roll. 

No blaring trump of fame allures ; 

Ambition's voice is still. 
Content to do man's lowly work — 

Content to do God's will. 

Unswerved by passion's sudden gale, 
Heeds not the siren's song; 

His foot-step firm, his progress slow, 
With patience suffers long. 

No deed heroic thrills his soul ; 
No act proclaims him great; 

^lere common sense in common things- 
Right anchor of a State. 



44 



THE COMMON MAN. 

Though thrones and alters rise and fall, 
New ways succeed the old ; 

Religions, laws, and social forms, 
Are fashioned in his mould. 

No grand emotion sweeps his breast. 
Inwrought by human woe; 

Himself he loves, he loves his own; 
Wise nature taught him so. 

Amid the world's inconstant flow. 
Amid the strain and strife, 

His common sorrows, common joys. 
Fill full the cup of life. 

His home is not the snowy mount, 
Where virtue lifts her throne; 

Down in among the grime of men, 
Sin-stained, he guards his own. 

His vision of the better day, 
When law and honor meet. 

Far down the future sees the right. 
With justice on her seat. 

45 



THE COMMON MAN. 

Though bold oppression, cruel wrong, 
Press deep their thorny crown, 

Still, in the darkness, gleams a star — 
Hope newborn sinks not down. 

The builders on the bridge of Time, 
Each age construct a span ; 

Within the shadow of its arch, 
Behold the Common Man ! 




^ 



46 



STROLLIN' OUT ALONE. 

Did y' ever get th' feelin' that a 

fellow's likely to, 
Of a balmy summer's evenin' after 

all the work is thro,' 
That y' kind o' want to wander, an' go 

strollin' out alone, 
Takin' all th' time y' care to spend, an' 

knowin' its all y'r own. 
With a sort of old-shoe comfort — an' y'r 

clothes a hangin' loose, 
Jus' forgettin' all y'r troubles, thinkin' 

nothin's any use? 

It's a mighty sight o' pleasure, when you're 

feelin' good an' sound, 
Jus' to take a little saunter, an' go ramblin' 

out around, 
With y'r eyes a gazin' listless' on the sights 

you're bound t' see, 
An' y'r mind a-dreamin' over things y' 

never 'spect to be ; 
For y' then begin t' thinkin' that the 

world is big an' wide. 
An' the only thing worth livin' f'r is 

bein' satisfied. 

47 



strollin' out alone. 



As you're weavin' slowly onward, drinkin' in 

th' silent blue, 
O'er y' steals a gentle rapture, like th' 

softly falling dew ; 
An' y'r lips begin t' hummin,' all 

unconscious some ol' tune, 
That you've heard y'r mother singin' in 

y'r child-hood's rosy June ; 
Then y'r heart comes leapin' upward, an' 

y'r mind begins t' roam. 
Backward o'er the paths you've trodden, to 

the tender scenes of home. 

There y' see the smiling faces — pictures of 

the long ago — 
Seated 'round th' family circle, by th' 

fire-side's ruddy glow : 
Tellin' stories, solvin' riddles, plying each 

some simple task — 
Mother busy at her stockin' ; father never 

slow to ask 
Questions far too deep for answer ; brother 

toilin' o'er his sums; 
Sister piecin' squares for quiltin,' when 

th' lagging summer comes. 

48 



strollin' out alone. 



All too soon that picture changes. Broken 

are the ties that bind, 
As th' family circle widens, with th' 

old folks left behind; 
And beside the self-same fireplace, while 

th' flickering embers die, 
Two old sweet-hearts sad and lonely, dream 

o'er happy days gone by — 
Dream, and in their silent moments, offer 

up a simple prayer. 
For th' loved ones gone, departed, leaving 

each his vacant chair. 

Still there comes a softer picture. Where th' 

grape-vine twines the well. 
Two young hearts sit deeply musing, lost 

in love's entrancing spell — 
She a maiden, pure and trustful, he a youth 

of manly pride ; 
Heart to heart, and hand in hand, sweetly 

silent, side by side. 
Ah ! she's gone. She's sleeping yonder, 'neath 

th' green sod on th' hill ; 
Yet like perfume of th' roses, hangs her 

mem'ry 'round y' still. 

49 



strollin' out alone. 



Then a tear comes tricklin' downward, an' 

y'r bosom heaves a sigh, 
As y' long f'r those that loved y' when no 

cloud was in y'r sky; 
An' y' live y'r whole life over, as y' journey 

slowly on, 
Feelin' all th' joys and sorrows, that thro' 

years have come an' gone. 
Ah ! there are no sweeter moments, that th' 

heart can call its own, 
Than th' moments of reflection, when 

you're strollin' out alone. 



^ 




50 



THE WOMAN OF PASSION. 

Some yearn for the woman of Fashion — 

The flower of ficklest bloom; 
Some follow the foot-prints of Fortune — 

The way leading quickest to doom; 
Some woo to be caught in the meshes 

Of Beauty's bewildering smiles ; 
While Fame is the wily enchantress, 

That oft the unwary beguiles. 

But, O for the woman of Passion ! 

The soul lit with heavenly fire ; 
Flung straight from the orb of perfection, 

With heart burning hot with desire ; 
With lips shedding kisses like dew-drops, 

And love through her eyes looking fair ; 
The flush on her cheek but reflecting, 

The tint of the gold in her hair. 

Then, give me the woman of passion. 

To love and caress and adore ; 
While others are chasing their phantoms, 

ril find in her heart's deepest core. 
The joy, and the bliss, and the rapture, 

That thrills and ennobles the soul ; 
That lifts me from earth unto heaven. 

Through powers beyond my control. 

51 



MATE OF MY CHILDHOOD DAYS. 

Dead — in a far off country ! 

Killed by a flying train. 
Buried — in the land of sunset ! 

Asleep by the sounding main. 

To-day the sad sad message, 
O'erflows my heart with grief; 

Till floods of pleasing memories, 
Bring back a sweet relief. 

O frail and fair-haired cousin ! 

Mate of my childhood days. 
Thy pale face, kind and tender, 

Reveals thy gentle ways. 

How many hours together. 

We've played, and played, and played ! 
In barnyard, lane, and meadow. 

And orchard's cooling shade. 

Our baby mines and tunnels, 

Looked out from banks of clay; 

And many a sparkling streamlet, 
We turned to rippling bay. 

52 



MATE OF MY CHILDHOOD DAYS. 

We tumbled o'er the straw-stack, 
Slid down its slippery side ; 

And sent the old goose flopping, 
From eggs she strove to hide. 

Amid the rocky thicket, 

We found the fox's den ; 
And saw the gray-squirrel springing, 

Far up his leafy glen. 

We edged along the fence-rows, 
To find the guinea's nest; 

Or watch the new-born piggies, 
Root at their mother's breast. 

We eyed the skimming swallow. 
Building her house of clay ; 

And climbed the slanting rafters, 
To steal the eggs away. 

Far down the weedy bottoms, 
We followed the straggling run ; 

Wading to catch the bullfrogs, 
Asleep in the burning sun. 

53 



MATE OF MY CHILDHOOD DAYS. 

No swimming hole but knew us, 

As we went plunging in; 
And many the sucking leeches, 

That plied our naked skin. 

We ranged with bird-like freedom, 
O'er hill, and flowery plain ; 

Whilst on our lips the berries 
Oft left their guilty stain. 

We plucked the red-ripe cherries, 
That blushed among the leaves ; 

Shook down the mellow apples, 
And gathered the golden sheaves. 

O'er many a new mown meadow. 
Where work was only play ; 

We rode the rattling wagon, 

And tramped the loose-thrown hay. 

Where springs the clear, cool fountain, 
Beneath the grapevine snug ; 

With tin cup worn and rusty. 
We filled our water jug. 

54 



MATE OF MY CHILDHOOD DAYS. 

Long days of sultry summer, 

Our little world we'd roam ; 
Nor heed the falling shadows, . 

Till ''cow-time" called us home. 

We watched the greedy thresher, 
Eat down the bearded stack ; 

And chased the foaming horses, 
Around the endless track. 

No patch of ripening melons. 

But knew our silent tread ; 
We plugged them with our jackknives, 

To find the inside red. 

When leaves were turning yellow, 
And fields were bare and brown ; 

We clambered up the tree tops, 
And whipped the ripe nuts down. 

We piled the streaked apples, 

High in the bulging bin ; 
And drank the frothing cider, 

As it came pouring in. 

55 



MATE OF MY CHILDHOOD DAYS. 

Through hazy Indian summers, 

When song birds' notes were still ; 

We trudged with lagging footsteps, 
To the schoolhouse on the hill. 

We hailed the golden Autumn, 
Its frolic, mirth, and glee ; 

The old-time apple cutting, 
The merry husking bee. 

We danced around the cane mill, 

And eyed the boiling pan ; 
We stole the hot molasses — 

And ate them as we ran. 

What fun to see them butch'rino- ! 

The hogs hung in a row ; 
W^hile zve blew up the bladders, 

And watched the sausage grow. 

We tracked the nibbling rabbit. 

Into his stony den ; 
We dragged him forth a-squawking, 

And stripped him of his skin, 

56 



MATE OF MY CHILDHOOD DAYS. 

On sleds of smooth worn runners, 
Fast down the hills we flew ; 

Our snow men in the moonlight, 
To ghostlike spectres grew. 

Around the glowing fireplace, 
When winter nights were long ; 

We heard the crackling pop corn — 
The house cat's purring song. 

Each day, and hour, and moment, 
With some new joy was blest ; 

Each morn its cup of gladness, 
Each night its dreamless rest. 

O, for the priceless treasure, 
Of childhood's careless hour ! 

For just one simple blossom. 

Plucked from youth's budding bower ! 

O, for the vanished faces, 

That never can return ! 
O, for the love that's garnered, 

In memory's golden urn! 

57 



THE LADY FROM BELLAIRE. 

I met a little lady once — 

A lady from Bellaire; 
Her eyes had caught the morning's hue. 

Her cheeks were very fair; 
Her ruby lips with kisses set, 

And nut-brown was her hair. 

I met this little lady once — 

This lady from Bellaire ; 
And then I met her once again, 

Each time she seemed more fair ; 
For grace and beauty both unite, 

And both her charms declare. 

Her form was neat her face was sweet — 

This lady from Bellaire ; 
A kindliness looked through her eyes, 

An innocence so rare; 
So lamb-like and so innocent, 

I thought her doubly fair. 

I sat beside this lady once — 

This lady from Bellaire ; 
I looked into her tender eyes ; 

I saw a sweetness there ; 
I seemed to see within her heart— 

The home of love and care. 

58 



THE LADY FROM BELLAIRE. 

I bade this lady for a kiss — 

This lady from Bellaire ; 
I thought it could be none amiss, 

From one so passing fair; 
But deftly did she turn her head 

And said — 'Young man beware.' 

I asked her why she did refuse — 

This lady from Bellaire ; 
How she so mild, so gentle, 

So meek and debonair, 
Could e'er disdain a courtesy, 

That I had deemed so rare. 

And then she spoke in meaning tones — 

This lady from Bellaire ; 
And said that he and he alone 

Who firmly will declare 
Himself to be forever mine — 

Shall print his kisses there. 

I wilted : aye, and I alone. 

O lady from Bellaire! 
Unwise I said — but thought it wise, 

Unfair — yet thought it fair, 
But ne'er again will I insist 

When lady says — Beware. 

59 



A MORNING'S RAMBLE. 

'Tis right royal fun for a fellow like me, 

To rise with the sun, wander forth with the 
bee; 
To feel the fresh breeze of a cool summer morn, 
That rustles through meadows and steals 
through the corn, 
To hear the first sounds, and to see the first 
sight — 
Of Dav newly born from the Dawn's early 

light. 

'Tis exquisite bliss, as I saunter along. 

Half whistling a tune, and half singing a song ; 

To look and to listen, to hear and to see 
All Nature burst forth into rapturous glee ; 

The music of earth and the glory of sky, 
Enchanting the ear, and bewitching the eye. 



60 



A morning's ramble. 



The heart of the boy leaps again in my breast ; 

I peep at the eggs in the little round nest ; 
And hear the red-bird singing high in the tree, 

The turtle-dove cooing so softly to me ; 
The cawing crow flies with a flap of his wing, 

And songs from the woods make the deep still- 
ness ring. 



How mellow the music, how sweet to the ear, 
The voice of the morning when summer is 
here! 
The breath of the flowers wafts swiftly along. 
The delicate strains of the maiden's glad song; 
And far o'er the hills floats the farmer's soft lay, 
To greet the wild shouts of his children at 
play. 

How soothingly sweet, and how charming to 
hear. 

The clarion notes of the cock's lusty cheer! 
The dog's lazy bark, and the filly's shrill neigh. 

And lowing of kine slowly browsing away! 
The bleating of flocks and the geese on the pool. 

Make morning seem even more balmy and cool. 

61 



A morning's ramble. 



The joy of the season flows into my soul, 
As o'er the green pastures I Hstlessly stroll ; 

I pluck the wild-flowers that smile at my feet, 
I stray with the brook down his grassy retreat ; 

Through forest and meadow, through orchard 
and lane, 
I view the loved scenes of my childhood again. 

My journeying ended, I hie me away, 

As morning glides noiselessly into the day ; 

And silently steal to some cool shady nook. 
To revel 'mid pleasures of pencil and book ; 

O, perfect contentment ! 'Tis folly to roam, 
No joy's like the joy of a summer at home. 




62 



ONLY A WANDERING BOY. 

I have wandered away like a Gipsy, 

O'er the earth it has pleased me to roam ; 

But my heart is now longing and sighing, 
For the gentle caresses of home. 

CHORUS 

Let me hie to the hills of my childhood, 
Where loved ones are waiting for me ; 

Where mother is rocking the cradle — 
Singing lul-lu-by, lul-lu-by-lee. 

I have sailed o'er the deep briny ocean, 

I have whirled through the city's great throng ; 

But I've never one moment forgotten, 
The soft words of my sister's glad song. 

I have seen much of sin and of sorrow. 
Though I'm only a wandering boy ; 

I am tired of the world and its follies, 
I am seeking sweet rest with its joy. 

When I once reach the door of our cottage, 

Never more will I wander away ; 
But my voice will I join with my sister's, 

In her sweetest melodious lay. 

63 



MY LIFE— MY LOVE. 

My life is my love, 

There's none that can sever; 
A life w^ithout love, 

Is an empty endeavor. 

There are hearts that will pine 

For riches and power ; 
But all the world's wealth 

May be lost in an hour. 

There are cheeks that grow pale, 
In the wild whirl of fashion ; 

And eyes that are dimmed 
By the mad rage of passion. 

There are hands that grow palsied. 
And heads that grow gray, 

In the vain search for something — 
What it is none can say. 



64 



MY LIFE MY LOVE. 

In the world's busy marts, 
In its traffic and game ; 

Pride seeketh her power, 
Ambition her fame. 

While the lowliest dreamer, 
From his humble estate, 

Sees nought but all bliss 
In the lives of the great ; 

The hearts that press onward, 
The whole world to gain ; 

Will find the prize won 
Worth less than its pain. 

O, where is contentment? 

O, where then is peace ? 
Is life but a desert? 

Must the heart's hoping cease 

Ah, no ! There is something, 
By the world's eye unseen, 

That makes the heart happy — 
Keeps life's meadows green. 

65 



MY LIFE MY LOVE. 

You may tell me of heaven, 

Of a paradise blest ; 
You may sing of bright angels, 

Chant the saints' holy rest; 

One hour's sweet communion, 
With the heart that I love, 

Is to me all of Heaven — 
All I hope for above. 

Where love is, is Heaven ; 

Though we deem it afar, 
Where the infmite ether 

Embalms the bright star. 

While I'm loved let me live. 
Is my heart's earnest rry ; 

When there's no one to love me, 
O, then let me die ! 




66 



FAIR GEM CITY. 

O City proud, how beautiful, how fair! 

Girt round with rolling hills and waving woods, 
Where rush Mad river's raging torrents wild. 

Or sweep Miami's broad and swelling floods. 
Her avenues smooth-laid and arbor-lined ; 

Her stately mansions rise to mark her pride ; 
Her grassy lawns, her fragrant flower-beds gay, 

Display the beauty of a vernal bride. 

Entranced by morning's sun, an hundred spires 

Bespeak of God, and Heaven's will obeyed ; 
Her temples huge, securely built and strong. 

Of knowledge tell, and learning's progress 
made. 
In belching tower, in furnace breathing fire, 

In hammer's ring, and whir of buzzing wheel, 
Stern Industry climbs up to noble power; 

And Labor learns its own true worth to feel. 

Where once the storm-defying oak-tree stood. 

Where once in beauty bloomed the fragile 
flower. 
Where once the willow kissed the swelling flood, 

Now stands a city proud with conscious power. 
No more the red-man roams the silent wood ; 

No more the savage beast pursues his prey; 
The noisy street usurps the lonely trail, 

And all that once was, now is passed away. 



THE CHAINED GODDESS. 

From the deep throat of the nations 
Comes a throbbing cry of pain ; 

Sweeping upward from the people, 
O'er the mountains and the plain. 

'Tis the voice that through the ages 
Tells the worngs of greed and strife; 

Justice bound and mammon sceptered, 
Crowding down the nobler life. 

'Tis the voice of woe and anguish, 
Swelling like the rising tide ; 

While the millions stagger blindly. 
Bent beneath earth's sham and pride. 

Bearing on their backs the burdens 
Of the thousand wars of old; 

Bearing on their backs the burdens 
Of the coming wars for gold. 



68 



THE CHAINED GODDESS. 

Little children in the breakers, 
Little children in the mines; 

Coining childhood into dollars 
For a master's dogs and wines. 

Little Children at the spindles, 
Little children in the mills ; 

Turning motherhood to millions 
For a titled daughter's bills. 

Stands the farmer in his furrow, 
Bowed by years of hopeless toil ; 

Sees the fruits of labor vanish 
Like the virtues from the soil. 

Sees his sons and daughters leave him, 
Yearning for the larger life ; 

In the tumult of the cities. 
In the keener, fiercer strife. 

Sees their little hour of triumph. 
Winning honor, praise, renown ; 

Struggling in the awful maelstrom, 
With their brothers going down. 

69 



THE CHAINED GODDESS. 

Stands the worker, empty handed, 
While the mind-endowed machine, 

Turns to gold earth's rich fruition 
For a master's haughty queen. 

Sees his son, strong, supple-sinewed. 
Doomed to wander through the land ; 

Sick at heart, and hunger-frenzied, 
Turn to join the robber band. 

Sees his daughter, bright, ambitious, 
Battling with the fateful wave. 

Launch her soul on shame's dark waters, 
Sinking to a pauper's grave. 

Curse the land that robs its childhood, 
Of the good that nature gives ! 

Curse the land that blights its mothers. 
Ere they feel the throb that lives ! 

Curse the system, evil-centered, 
That destroys a noble youth ! 

Curse it, curse it, till it passes 
Out of falsehood into truth. 

70 



THE CHAINED GODDESS. 

We are living, we are striving, 

In a nation near sublime ; 
Building up a mighty people 

From the blood of every clime. 

Building from the good or evil 
That entwines a common race, 

Something greater, something grander, 
For a Future's fond embrace. 

Shallow brains, and straitened foreheads, 

Masters of a selfish age. 
Vanish in the larger actions 

Wrought upon an ampler stage. 

We shall see a lamp before us, 
Far ahead it lights the way ; 

For a broader, clearer vision, 
And a brighter, better day. 

Faith shall lead us on to knowledge — 
Knowledge of the deeper things; 

Till all mystery shall vanish 

In the light that Science brings. 

71 



THE CHAINED GODDESS. 

There shall reign a new religion, 
From all cant and dogma free; 

Worshipers of pure Ideals, 
And the perfect Life to be. 

We shall see a mightier commerce, 
Sweeping down the double blue — 

Airy greyhounds, fleeter footed, 
Steering with a bolder crew. 

See the war gods of the nations, 
Grappling in a world-wide rage ; 

Till the din of battle ceases. 
In a happier, friendlier age. 

And the barriers betwixt us. 
Slowly sinking, leave behind, 

A democracy of peoples — 
A republic of mankind. 

War and hate from earth shall perish, 
Leaving there no blot or trace ; 

And the fusion of all races 
Shall evolve a kindlier race. 

72 



THE CHAINED GODDESS. 

Purer instincts, finer feelings, 

Then shall sway the human heart; 

And the beast that growls within us 
Find an impulse to depart. 

Fancy, fancy, idle fancy 

That reveals so marvelous things? 
Fevered brain that fathers fancies 

Soaring on such airy wings ? 

Are the records arid the triumphs, 

Of the races of mankind, 
Earnest of a mightier progress. 

And more wondrous strides of mind? 

Shall the nations, evil fated. 

Lower sinking day by day. 
Drunk, and reeling down the ages, 

Totter to a last decay? 

Fades the work of man to ashes. 
While oblivion's shadows fall ; 

And a shroud of utter darkness 
Hides a world within its pall. 

73 



THE CHAINED GODDESS. 

r^ife and death is Nature's order, 

Death from Hfe and Hfe from death; 

Like the grass the nations wither — 
Grandeur's but a fleeting breath. 

Loose the cords and break the fetters, 
Free the Goddess from her chains ; 

Where the laws of Nature govern — 
Lo, behold the glorious gains ! 

Love decadent, lust triumphant, 
Marks a people's sure decline ; 

Simple strength is woman's virtue — 
Motherhood a nation's shrine. 

Curse the sordid crimes and vices 
That corrupt the souls of men ! 

Curse the wealth that robs our manhood 
Of the manly traits within! 

Curse the greed that makes us paupers. 
Feeds our weakness with a crust! 

Justice is the bread that strengthens — 
Charity but servile dust. 

74 



THE CHAINED GODDESS. 

Slumb'ring lies the Past behind us, 
Stark the brutal hand of force ; 

Purer gleam from out the darkness 
Guides the Present in her course. 

From the tombs of buried nations, 
Knowledge bears her dusty tomes; 

Tongues of wisdom, stilled, forgotten, 
Speak from voiceless catacombs. 

Ancient wrongs and blind oppressions — 

Ghosts that haunt the dreams of slaves- 
Bend their baleful shadows forward. 
Over countless heroes' graves. 

Caste and cringing perish utter' ; 

Fling worn custom to the breeze; 
Equal rights for prince and pauper — 

Equal laws and just decrees. 

Smite the gilded gods of Mammon ; 

Pomp and privilege despoil ; 
Rouse the sinking soul of Labor; 

Bondage banish fro the soil. 

75 



THE CHAINED GODDESS. 

Comes a Spirit, mounting higher, 
Round the Earth it sends a thrill, 

At each crashing of old systems 
In this onward march of Will. 

Higher than the painted savage, 
Higher than the crouching slave ; 

Free in thought and free in action — 
Freedom makes a people brave. 

Free the limbs and free the body. 
Break the shackles from the mind ; 

Free the soul from superstition — 
Free the heart of all mankind. 

Free thc^ commerce of the nations ; 

Free the toilers of the land ; 
Lay the burdens of the people 

On the fortunes of the Grand. 

Free the earth from strife and envy, 

Usher in the Social will ; 
Free the gifts that Nature gives us — 

Then Oppresion's hand is still. 

16 



WINNING AND LOSING. 

When youth and maiden meet, alas ! 

They never dream of wooing; 
Too soon, too soon it comes to pass, 

Two souls are deeply ruing. 

The human heart, so strangely wrought — 
You ne'er can quite control it ; 

It oft-times loves when least you thought. 
How bitter to console it! 

'Tis sweet though sad, 'tis half a sin, 

To love a lass and lose her; 
Tis sadder still to love and win — 

Then find you may not choose her. 



n 



THAT OLD DEAD TREE. 

Into my childhood's golden gray, 
Into my boyhood's perfect day, 
Into my young heart's plastic clay. 
There came a picture fair to see — 
The picture of — That Old Dead Tree. 

Far on the hilltop lone and high, 
Painting its shadow in the sky ; 

Up where the wild birds wheel and cry ; 

With naked arms outstretch'^d and free, 
A giant seemed — That Old Dead Tree. 

Laved in the summer's sunshine warm ; 

Braving the winter's an^ry storm ; 
Lofty it towered, a rugged form, 
Teaching the world, and teaching me, 

The grandeur of — That Old Dead Tree. 



78 



THAT OLD DEAD TREE. 

Stately and strong through years it stood ; 

Proud monarch of the vanished wood ; 
TelHng mankind of ancient good, 
Of glories past no more to be ; 

A voiceless seer— That Old Dead Tree. 

O, let me stand, when Hfe is done, 
My head high-Hfted in the sun; 

Lone, waiting, while Time's cycles run ! 

A gleam of hope, my shadow be, 
Across the Future's restless sea. 




79 



THERE'S NOTHIN' LIKE BEIN' A 
DEMOCRAT. 

Some folks are good, and some are bad, 

And some are neither good nor bad ; 
Some stand aloof and never know, 

Which way to turn, which way to go. 
In politics 'tis quite the same. 

Your Party may be just a name; 
Say what you will of this or that — 

There's Nothin' Like Bein' a Democrat. 

A Democrat's a strange device, 

That thinks but once, and speaks it twice ; 
He's mostly wrong, but some times right, 

And always ready for a fight; 
Two parts of chafif to one of wheat. 

You can't convince him that he's beat ; 
To-day he's this, to-morrow that — 

There's Nothin' Like Bein' a Democrat. 

He builds a Platform, broad and long, 

With many planks both safe and strong; 
On this he stands, and shouts aloud. 

And hears the wild cheers of the crowd ; 
He knows full well he's bound to win, 

And sees the "good ship sailing in" ; 
When all is o'er — O, where's he at ! 

There's Nothin' Like Bein' a Democrat. 

80 



there's nothin' like bein' a democrat. 

If all is lost he starts anew, 

And follows up another clew; 
He sheds the garments of the past, 

And dons a newer garb at last ; 
You scarce' would recognize him now, 

When forth he comes to make his bow. 
He's changed his dress, but what of t^hat? 

There's Nothin' Like Bein' a Democrat. 

Upon a lofty moral plane, 

He thunders out with might and main ; 
Against corruption ''running loose," 

Against each form of "dark abuse"; 
The people, dazed, all stop to hear. 

And say — 'Tt's Democratic year !" 
He's smiling now, but what of that? 

There's Nothin' Like Bein' a Democrat. 

They turn the rascals out at last ; 

The "plums" come falling thick and fast : 
There's "loot" and "graft" for honest toil— ^ 

Since he who wins must reap the "spoil." 
He robs the safe, he taps the till ; 

He "bleeds" the public at his will ; 
They're comin' some, but what of that ? 

There's Nothin' Like Bein' a Democrat. 

81 



there's nothin' like bein' a democrat. 



When once he's in, he's there to stay ; 

He "works the wires" both night and day. 
With solemn speech, with loud debate, 

He lauds the "mighty ship of state" ; 
He paints a picture, dire and strange, 

Of ruin wrought by any change ; 
He's in the game ; but what of that ? 

There's Nothin' Like Bein' a Democrat. 

"Hard Times" may come ; they often do ; 

When good men swear, and things look blue ; 
The statesman slinks away in dread, 

While empty stomachs cry for bread. 
When wagging tongues begin to shout — 

Lo ! comes a tide that sweeps him out. 
Sad stroke of Fate! but what of that? 

There's Nothin' Like Bein' a Democrat. 

His Platform, changed to brittle clay, 

Soon crumbles down or fades away ; 
He's strangely moral when he's "out"; 

But safely in, he's "faced about." 
He might be better, might be worse ; 

Sometimes a blessing, oft a curse; 
He's human still ; for all o' that — 

There's Nothin' Like Bein' a Democrat. 

82 



EULA. 

Pure as the heart of the red, red rose, 
In the mellowing month of June ; 

Fair as the lily that nods and blows, 
In the rays of a silver moon. 

Strong in the strength of a mother's love ; 

Deeply 'shrined in a father's breast ; 
Tender and true as the nestling dove, 

When the fledgeling forsakes her nest. 

Daughter of hope, and an only child, 
To the verge of womanhood grown ; 

Light of the home, sweet mannered and 
mild — 
But the spirit of all has flown. 

God, in His infinite Wisdom, came, 
And enfolded her to His breast; 

High on His tablet inscribed her name — 
And her soul in the Book of Rest. 



83 



MISUNDERSTOOD. 

As we journey along the rough highways of Hfe, 
Through the gardens of pleasure, the temples of 
strife ; 
Whether shunning the evil, or courting the good, 
There is one sad reflection — we're misunder- 
stood. 

We are misunderstood by the hearts we love best ; 
By the hands that have led us, the lips we've 
caressed, 
By the mates of our childhood, the friends of 
our youth, 
And by those we hold nearer than angels of 
truth. 

Are we willing and eager, a duty to do? 

Are we gleaning in fields where the gleanings 
are few? 
Are we lighting a brother from darkness and sin ? 
We are misunderstood by the souls we would 
win. 



84 



MISUNDERSTOOD. 

From the chance-wheel of fame, do we draw the 
great prize? 
Do we fail, and sink down; buried, never to 
rise? 
Win or lose — fate decrees; though our loss be 
our good, 
Still the world sees awry — we are misunder- 
stood. 

Rich in years, do we cling to the visions of youth ? 

Do we build of our lives stately pillars of truth ? 
Do we stand in the gloaming, our face to the 
light ? 

We are misunderstood by the minions of night. 

We are misunderstood by all others save one. 
O'er our lives she stands watch; weighs each 
thought and act done; 
Never ceasing to praise, never fearing to chide ; 
When at peace with dame Conscience — in 
peace we abide. 




85 



MARGUERITE. 

In the days of bold king Francis, 

When the corsair swept the main ; 
Roberval, the mighty captain, 

Sailed the dark and billowy plain. 
Uncle was he to a maiden — 

Marguerite, young and brave; 
Courted by a youthful lover, . 

As they rode the ocean wave. 

CHORUS 

Marguerite, Marguerite, 

Maiden lovely, sweet and fair ! ■ 
Cruel Fortune cast upon her 

All the demons of despair ; 
Till no heart could bear her anguish 

And no tongue her sorrow tell ; 
For she loved her faithless lover — 

Not wisely — but too well. 

Cast upon a barren island. 

In the bosom of the sea. 
Was the lovely Marguerite 

With a babe for company. 
By her stood a faithless lover, 

And a nurse with weeping eye ; 
As her cold and cruel uncle. 

Left them there alone to die. 
86 



MARGUERITE. 

Loudly roared the angry billows, 

Fiercely raged the howling storms ; 
As the breath of icy winter, 

Fell upon their sickly forms. 
In the grave she laid her lover ; 

By his side their darling child ; 
And the dear old nurse she buried, 

'Mid the snows of winter wild. 

Long and lonely there she languished, 

Nursed by Fate and fickle Chance ; 
Till a strange but friendly vessel, 

Bore her back to sunny France. 
There she told her sad, sad, story. 

Of a love both deep and strong ; 
Of a proud heart rudely broken — 

Crushed beneath a bitter wrong. 




87 



THE RAVAGER. 

Rum, Rum the mighty Monster ! 

Glutted with his human prey ; 
Lies with dismal jaws distended, 

Where our helpless children play. 
Fiery tongue and blood-shot eye-balls, 

Flashing like port-holes of Hell, 
Over men and over nations, 

Cast a most bewitching spell. 

Shall we rest and be contented, 

While such eyes upon us gloat? 
Shall we wait until this monster 

Gulps our nation down his throat? 
Let us grapple with the Demon, 

While we have him in our grasp ; 
Ere the Demon turns and rends us, 

Tearing from our feeble clasp. 

There is moral force sufficient,. 

Stored up in this nation's breast, 
To destroy this giant Evil, 

If unchained it were expressed. 
Let us break the bands that bind it ; 

Give it full un-fettered sway ; 
Then we'll see the beauteous breaking 

Of a bright and better day. 

88 



THE RAVAGER. 

Let not Freedom, pure and holy, 

Be a shield to shelter crimes ; 
Lest she spurn such base perversion, 

Turn her face to fairer climes. 
Half the worms of foul corruption, 

Gorge and glut in Freedom's name ; 
They who love her for her beauty. 

Can but blush to see her shame. 

Underneath this age's rubbish, 

Lies the sparkling gem of truth ; 
Palsied eyes may see it dimly — 

Radiant 'tis to eyes of youth ; 
Palsied fingers lay upon it, 

All the tattered rags of time ; 
Naught but virile strength and courage, 

Can reveal its light sublime. 

Truth ne'er shines with deeper luster. 

Than when bathed in martyr's blood ; 
Gory foot-prints, left behind her, 

Mark the place where she has stood ; 
In the battle's front we find her, 

Steeling hearts with mettle true; 
Trampled down by Error's legions, 

To her feet she springs anew. 

89 



THE RAVAGER. 

See her in the Council Chamber, 

Head un-covered, bosom bare ! 
All the fiery darts of malice, 

Aiming at her breast so fair; 
Firm she stands, and wavers never, 

Scorning fear or base retreat ; 
Till she sees the arrows broken, 

Lying harmless at her feet. 

Who can fail, if Truth be leader? 

Craven hearts grow nobly bold. 
By the magic of her presence, 

Worthless dross is changed to gold ; 
Goaded then by conscious duty, 

Follow where she leads the way ; 
On a plane of higher level, 

Breathe the purer air of day. 

Smite the chords of all the ages^ 

Listen to the music roll ; 
From the dens of vice and folly, 

From the martyr's mounting soul ; 
Which has led humanity upward ! 

Which has taught man-kind to rise, 
On the wings of lofty purpose, 

Nearer God's pure sunlit skies? 

90 



THE RAVAGER. 

Think not then to please the Present, 

Pleases God and future man ; 
Every upward stride of virtue, 

Bears a load of human ban. 
Dare to see the right and do it. 

Trust the future for a crown; 
All the weight of present Evil, 

Has not power to drag you down. 

Mark the desolation scattered. 

By this Foe to human-kind ; 
Broken heart and blighted body, 

Damned soul, and shattered mind ; 
Wretched mother — pale and haggard, 

Bending o'er a lifeless child ; 
Drunken father — raving, cursing, 

With a look both fierce and wild. 

Naked children — weak and helpless, 

Chilled by winter's wicked blast; 
Paled by fear, and blanched by hunger, 

Find a starveling's grave at last. 
Horror sinks the soul to see it! 

See a sight so sickly sad — 
How the human heart is wasted, 

How the human mind runs mad. 

91 



THE RAVAGER. 

Mothers of a mighty nation — 

Mothers of a marvelous Land ! 
Must we read the fated letters, 

Written by an unseen Hand? 
Must we hear the wrath of Heaven, 

Thundering from the throne of God ? 
Must we see a barren desert, 

Where the Prince of Plenty trod? 

Fathers of a famous nation — 

Fathers of a favored Land ! 
Must the blood you shed to save it, 

Sink unnoticed in the sand? 
Vain is all your blood-bought glory, 

Vain is every victory won ; 
If the father's deeper teachings, 

Go unheeded by the son. 

Children of a cherished nation — 

Children of a chosen Land ! 
On the mount of all the ages — 

Beckoned by the Future's hand ! 
Will a father's deeds for freedom 

Never move your souls to rise? 
Will a sainted mother's pleadings 

Never teach you sacrifice? 

92 



THE RAVAGER. 

We belie our fathers' spirit ; 

Standing blindly in our tracks, 
To the past we turn our faces — 

Face the future with our backs. 
They were brave, but we are cowards. 

Shrinking from an honored goal ; 
From the limbs they broke the shackles- 

We must break them from the soul! 

By the flag that floats above us, 

By the altars of our God ; 
By the burning fires of freedom, 

Lit by hands beneath the sod ; 
By the blood of martyred heroes 

Who will live in hearts to come; 
Let us swear a resolution 

That we'll break the Power of Rum ! 




93 



THE MAID AND THE MERMAID. 

A sweet little maid met a little mermaid, 

Far out in the ocean blue ; 
Where the winds and the waves from the dark- 
some caves, 

Greet the sun and the morning's dew. 

Said the sweet little maid to the little mermaid. 

If I had fins like you, 
I would sail o'er the deep, where the bright waters 
sweep — 

If-I-had-fins-like-you. 

Said the little mermaid to the sweet little maid. 

If I had feet like you, 
I would trip o'er the land, and the mountains 
grand — 

If-I-had-feet-like-you. 



94 



THE MAID AND THE MERMAID. 

Said fhe sweet little maid to the little mermaid, 

If I had hair like you, 
I would win every hand on the broad, broad 
land — 

If-I-had-hair-like-you. 

Said the little mermaid to the sweet little maid, 

If I had eyes like you, 
I would win every soul, where the deep waters 
roll— 

If-I-had-eyes-like-you. 

Then the sweet little maid kissed the little mer- 
maid. 

And bade her a fond adieu ; 
For the little mermaid loves the sweet little maid, 

And both of their hearts are true. 



^ 




95 



ANGILENA. 

Dreary, dreary blew the night-wind, 
Sadly, sadly sighed the sea ; 

As I sat in meditation, 

On the rocks of Baljoree — 

Sat in silent meditation, 
On the rocks of Baljoree. 

In my wierd and lonely chamber, 
Where the fire-light dimly shone ; 

There I listened to the night-wind. 
Listened to the ocean moan ; 

And methoiight I heard a foot-step 
Falling on the dank door-stone. 

Ah ! I feared it was an angel ; 

And my soul with memories filled ; 
Floods of memories rushed upon me, 

And my heart was deeply thrilled ; 
For I thought of her the loveliest — 

Thought of her my passion killed. 



96 



ANGILENA. 

But the foot-fall on the door-stone 
Was a foot-fall of the mind; 

Prompted by some un-seen spirit, 
Flown from regions un-defined ; 

Sent from her my Angilena — 
Sent from regions un-defined. 

Then my soul grew wild with passion ; 

Deep and dark its waters rolled, 
Like the livid streams of lava, 

Down the slopes of Languinold — 
Like the sullen streams of lava, 

From the lips of Languinold. 

Where, O where is Angilena ! 

Where, O where, to-night is she? 
Wandering by the boiling Boora ; 

Or the frozen Yennessee ? 
Climbing up some snowy summit, 

Sailing o'er some sultry sea? 

Welcome angels, welcome devils — 

Denizens of land or sea ; 
Welcome to my lowly chamber, 

On the rocks of Baljoree — 
Only bring my Angilena, 

Bring, O bring her back to me ! 
97 



ANGILENA. 

Long I sat in dreamy stillness, 
Listening to the tempest roar; 

Listening to the howling billows, 
Beat upon the rocky shore — 

Quickly was that stillness broken 
By a rapping at my door. 

Come, O come, and cease thy rapping; 

Come, reveal to me thy face; 
Be it demon, be it human, 

Be it angel's lit with grace ; 
Come, and speak thy message to me — 

Come, or get thee from this place. 

Ah ! hast come and art no stranger ; 

Many-a time and oft I've seen thee, 
Many-a time have wrestled with thee, 

Many-a time have quailed before thee ; 
And my heart-strings from my bosom. 

Thou hast torn and cast before me. 

Thou art neither brute nor human, 

Angel, devil, beast or bird ; 
Never language can explore thee, 

Never find for thee a word ; 
Nameless is thy name forever — 

Nameless, nameless is the word. 

98 



ANGILENA. 

Get thee back into the darkness ; 

Tempt me, tempt me never more ; 
Go ! — but stay, and tell me truly. 

Tell me, tell me, I implore, 
Where's my angel Angilena? 

Tell me, tell me I implore ! 

Spake that voice so like a phantom — 
"She is wandering on the shore." 

Thus it spake and thus it vanished ; 
Vanished from my chamber door; 

Sounding in my soul's deep cavern — 
"She is wandering on the shore." 




99 



THE OTHER FELLOW. 

Did you ever have the feeling, 
Oh ! the funny funny feeUng, 
That would set your brain a-reeling — 
When the other fellow got your job? 

It was yours by right and reason, 
Not to get it would be treason ; 
But your sauce was out of season — 
When the other fellow got your job. 

You had won it by your labor, 
As the crown is by the saber ; 
But you didn't know your neighbor — 
When the other fellow got your job. 

You had babies that were creeping, 
And your good wife, she was weeping; 
But the old broom did the sweeping — 
When the other fellow got your job. 



100 



THE OTHER FELLOW. 

Things didn't go as you expected, 
They were somewhat dis-connected, 
And the whole world seemed dejected — 
When the other fellow got your job. 

It was glory for the winner, 
He had everything for dinner ; 
But you looked a little thinner — 
When the other fellow got your job. 

All your hopes were rudely shaken. 
By the world you seemed forsaken ; 
Ah ! for once you were mistaken — 
When the other fellow got your job. 

Did you ever have the feeling, 
Oh ! the funny funny feeling. 
That would set your brain a-reeling — 
When the other fellow got your job? 




101 



INWARDNESS. 

We're better than some, some are better than we ; 

No other than Nature would have us to be. 
The worst is not nearly so bad as we think — 

Pure fluid is found in the blackest of ink. 
The best of us seldom are just what we seem — 
There's some cloudy water in every clear 
stream. 
From worst to the best there is but a short span ; 
We all think we're doing the best that we can. 

We're happy sometimes, and sometimes we are 
sad ; 
Who never knows sorrow can never feel glad. 
We struggle for honor, great riches, or fame, 
And think there is much in a high-sounding 
name. 
'Tis only too true that our troubles keep pace, 
And often out run in the soul-striving race. 
Be just what we may — rich or poor, great or 
small ; 
Kind Fortune doles out even measures to all. 

We often lose hope, and life's journey looks 
drear ; 
We see but dark clouds where the skies 
should be clear ; 

102 



INWARDNESS. 

Our cherished plans fail ; we receive not our own ; 

We see others reaping in fields we have sown, 
Our vessel seems fated ; no breeze fills her sails ; 

While others' are driven by swift-setting gales, 
Success may mean failure, and failure success ; 

That wisdom is wisest which wears a plain 
dress. 

Dame Fortune smiles on us ; friends come troop- 
ing up ; 
They dine at our table ; they sip from our cup ; 
The loaves and the fishes they're quick to divide ; 
But bear not the cross when their lord's 
crucified ; 
The friend we have gained — may his lamp ever 
burn ; 
We need him at times ; he may need us in 
turn — 
Some joy or some sorrow comes over the heart; 
To share it, to bear it, is always his part. 

We're lonesome sometimes and the whole world 
is glum ; 
Our feelings are dull, and our actions are 
dumb. 
We're looking for some one — we know not just 
who; 

103 



INWARDNESS. 

We're waiting for something — for something 
to do. 
We stand in the way as the crowd hurries by, 
And hear the gay laugh, watch the cold fickle 
eye; 
We see not a face that we dare call our own — 
We're not always loneliest when we're alone. 

The soul, stirred by passion or pride of great 
name, 

Oft scales rugged heights, mounting upward 
to fame. 
Inspired by stern duty — some purpose sublime, 

We do noble deeds, lofty summits we climb. 
The heart once aglow with ambition's mad fire, 

We strike boldly out to achieve high desire. 
How easy the task to be good, to be great. 

If only we grasp the grim offer of Fate ! 

Sometimes we grow weary of toil and of care ; 

And grind without hope at the mill of despair : 
Each day is a life-span, each heart-throb a knell. 

Each year but a drop from Time's bottomless 
well. 
We barter our souls for a trifle of good ; 

And sell our best blood for a scant livelihood. 

104 



INWARDNESS. 

Our skein is unraveled — the last thread is spent ; 
Like moths to the candle — we came and we 
went. 

Pure joy follows pain, as the day follows night ; 

The heart over-flows with the wine of delight ; 
We feel the keen pleasure that thrills every nerve, 

When hope bubbles up richer passions to serve. 
The heart lends the tongue sweeter music to sing, 

As love, at our feet, plucks the flowers of 
spring; 
And gayly we gather the roses of June, 

To brighten the path of the soul's honey- 
moon. 

There comes a strange feeling of sorrow for sin ; 
The good we have longed for wells up from 
within. 
To make the world better, we sow a few seed ; 
We plant a new flower, or pluck up a weed. 
We never will know, when we speak a kind word. 
The hearts we have lifted, the souls we have 
stirred ; 
A pebble we drop in the fathomless deep, 
And ripples are born that round continents 
creep. 

105 



INWARDNESS. 

The curtains of evening descend like a scroll ; 
We sit in the darkness to muse — with our 
soul. 
Whence came it ? And why ? Whither next will 
it go ? 
No mortal can answer; no mortal can know. 
We doubt ; but faith sees ; and hope ever hopes 
on. 
We feel that life lives, though we're dust, and 
are gone. 
'Tis better to think we're a child of the skies ; 
'Tis better to hope that our love never dies. 




^ 



106 



AIARRY THE MAID OF YOUR YOUTH. 

Marry the maiden you courted, my boy, 
In the halycon days of your youth; 

Marry the maiden whose love was your joy. 
And whose heart is a fountain of truth. 

Child-like and pure is a maiden's first love; 

'Tis a symbol of heaven down here ; 
Only a dew-drop let fall from above, 

Just to sparkle and then disappear. 

Wait not on fortune, or fame, or renown ; 

They may come with a hq-orard's delay; 
Wear woman's love as a gem in your crown, 

And sweet flowers will brighten your way. 



107 



THE REALM OF FANCY. 

I live in the realm of fancy ; 

In a dwelling airy and bright — 
A palace of purest sunshine, 

Quarried from mountains of light. 

I gaze from my fairy windows 
On a struggling world below ; 

Its joys and its silent sorrows, 
Its endless rivers of woe. 

I dwell on the lights and the shadows, 
That play o'er the motley throng ; 

And list to the voice of the current, 
That bears it swiftly along. 

I view with serenest compassion, 
Each little mould of clay. 

That strust and frets with empty pride- 
Fast wasting itself away. 



108 



THE REALM OF FANCY. 

I see earth's countless children, 
Toiling upward through the night; 

I hear their mournful voices, 
Crying faintly for the light. 

Toil on, O faithless millions ! 

Let the ages onward roll ; 
Hope's gleaming star, though seen afar, 

Uplifts the sinking soul. 

Toil on, ye sons of darkness ! 

Twin-brothers to the clod ; 
The toil and tears of a thousand years. 

Is only a step toward God. 




109 



LOVED AND PARTED. 

O, could I but paint it in language — 
My feeling of sadness to-night ! 

For she that I most loved has left me, 
And gone — she has gone from my sight. 

'Tis just seven days since I saw her, 
And bade her a loving farewell ; 

Yet seems it an age to my fancy, 
Entranced is my soul with her spell. 

I see in the picture before me, 

Retouched by her own gentle hand, 

A face lit with tender emotion, 

And eyes speaking love's true command. 

Well knew we the strength of the passion, 
That welded our hearts into one ; 

We loved — and the whole world was happy, 
And happy were we — but 'tis done. 



110 



LOVED AND PARTED. 

How sweet were the days that I knew her- 
How swiftly the moments did fly ! 

The first time I saw her I loved her, 
The last time I kissed her — good-bye. 

O why should Fate bring us together, 
And bind us each — heart unto heart? 

If soon she must rive us asunder. 
And cast us yet farther apart. 




^ 



111 



FREEDOM'S BATTLE-CRY. 

Strike, O Friends of Freedom ! 

Strike at your common Foe ; 
Strike at haughty England — 

Deal her a deadly blow. 
Strike, and avenge the hated wrongs — 

The wrongs of centuries past ; 
Strike, while the fires of freedom 

Are spreading wide and fast. 

Strike for the Boer in the Boer-land ! 

His flag, his holy cause. 
Strike for his country's freedom ; 

His Bible and his Laws. 
Strike, and avenge the hated wrongs — 

The wrongs of centuries past ; 
Strike while the fires of freedom 

Are spreading wide and fast. 

Strike, ye sons of Erin ! 

Ye serfs to England's greed ; 
By a single stroke throw off the yoke, 

And Heaven will bless the deed. 
Strike, and avenge the hated wrongs — 

The wrongs of centuries past ; 
Strike while the fires of freedom 

Are spreading wide and fast. 

112 



freedom's battle cry. 



Strike, ve men of India ! 

Ye famine-blighted slaves. 
Strike, and bury the British flag 

Beneath the ocean's waves. 
Strike, and avenge the hated wrongs — 

The wrongs of centuries past. 
Strike while the fires of freedom 

Are spreading wide and fast. 

Strike, ye Islands of the Seas ! 

Now is the timely hour ; 
Strike and humble the Briton's pride, 

Hurl down the tyrant's power. 
Strike, and avenge the hated wrongs — 

The wrongs of centuries past ; 
Strike while the fires of freedom 

Are spreading wide and fast. 

Strike, for the Boer in the Boer-land ; 

His flag, his holy cause! 
Strike for his home, his fire-side, 

His Bible and his Laws. 
Strike, and avenge the hated wrongs — 

The wrongs of centuries past ; 
Strike while the fires of freedom 

Are spreading wide and fast. 

113 



WILLIE SLOPPIN' TH' PIGS. 

Squealin', squealin', squealin', squealin' ! 

Can't y' never stop, 
And give a feller half a chance 

To pour y' in y'r slop? 

Pushin', shovin', crowdin', climbin,' 

Fallin' o'er y'r trough ; 
Jus' like a lot o' crazy hogs — 

You'll knock y'r noses off. 

Quarlin', fightin' over nothin', 

Trampin' on my feet — 
Stop now, y' fools ! Y' spill y'r slop, 

Y' won't have none t' eat. 

There it goes, a rushin', splashin,' 

'Bout half on the ground ; 
An' every nose a-pokin' in, 

A-listen' f'r the sound. 



114 



WILLIE SLOPPIN' TH' PIGS. 

In y' jump ! Another scuffle ; 

Scramblin' f 'r a place ; 
Y' brainless loons, y' ain't no sense — 

There's lots o' empty space. 

Now y' stand 'ere, drinkin', drinkin' ! 

Swellin' out y'r sides ! 
Jus' puffin' up like big balloons — 

You'll bust y'r 'fernal hides. 

Got 'nough! Yes, fuller'n topers; 

Staggerin' on y'r feet. 
Y' don't hear any squealin' now — 

A pig is hard to beat ! 




115 



THE MAIDEN'S WARNING. 

Go not to the city, my sweet country maiden, 

Go not to the city I pray ; 
I know thee, I love thee, my heart it yearns for 
thee — 

This warning I charge thee obey. 

x\round thee and for thee the flowers are bloom- 
ing, 
Around thee the happy birds sing; 

Thy life is as bright as the dew-drop that sparkles 
In sunlight of crystalline spring. 

O stay where the sun-beams thy cheeks paint with 
blushes ! 

O stay where thy life did begin ! 
Far better a slave in a household of virtue, 

Than queen in a palace of sin. 

Go not where the snares of temptation entice 
thee ; 

The wicked will laugh at thy fall ; 
But stay where thy purity keeps and adorns thee ; 

Where innocence answers thy call. 

116 



THE maiden's warning. 



The hills and the trees and the brooks make thy 
brothers ; 

The birds and the flowers thy friends. 
Thy bed on the green deck with pillows of roses; 

Steal day-dreams ere darkness descends. 

think not the din and the dust of the city 
Will make the heart happy and free ! 

Aye, millions are striving with grim disappoint- 
ment, 
For the things that never can be. 

The glitter of gold may deceive and allure thee, 
Wealth's splendor may dazzle thine eye ; 

The bare-footed maid with her song and her sun- 
shine, 
Has treasures no riches can buy. 

Go not to the city my sweet country maiden ; 
Go not to the city I pray ; 

1 know thee, I love thee, my heart it yearns for 

thee, 
This warning I charge thee — obey. 



U7 



NEVER TROUBLE TROUBLE. 

This world is filled with sadness, 

Each heart its burden bears ; 
No life is lived in wealth or want, 

Without its load of cares. 
The dreams of child-hood fade away, 

The hopes of youth decline. 
And all that once was bright and fair, 

Is lost in sorrow's mine. 

CHORUS 

Then would you make life pleasant, 

And gentle as the dew ; 
Oh, would you dry from weeping eye, 

The tears that sorrow knew ; 
Then would you fill this world with joy. 

Make all hearts light and true ; 
Oh, never trouble trouble — lad. 

When trouble troubles you. 

Go forth my son with gladness, 

Fight manfully in the strife ; 
For he who falters in the race. 

Ne'er wins the prize of life. 
Black clouds may gather round your way. 

Before you chasm yawn ; 
But deepest darkness always comes, 

Just ere the break of dawn. 

118 



NEVER TROUBLE TROUBLE. 

Learn well my boy this lesson, 

As life you journey through; 
That you will find on every hand, 

False friends as well as true; 
And when kind faces pass you by, 

All hope sinks in despair ; 
Remember then that friends most true, 

Will your mis- fortune share. 

When age comes stealing o'er you, 

As time flies swiftly by ; 
When life's dim star is sinking low. 

Upon the western sky; 
Weep not my son, shed not a tear, 

For Nature holds her way ; 
And all the best and loved of earth. 

Must follow in their day. 




^ 



119 



MISSES AND KISSES. 

Misses like kisses ; 

They dare not deny it; 
If you don't think they do, 

Just tempt them to try it. 

The Miss that won't kiss 

Is a mystical Miss, 
Who never will know, 

When she misses a kiss, 
That she misses in this 

The quintessence of bliss ! 

Just think of the bliss, 
That Misses must miss. 

When once they decide 
They never will kiss ! 

Now the kind of a kiss 
That pleases the Miss, 

Must always be learned, 
Before kissing the Miss. 



120 



MISSES AND KISSES. 

O, the infinite kisses, 

That Misses do kiss! 
There's the neat Httle kiss, 

And the sweet Httle kiss; 
There's the httle round kiss, 

And the little flat kiss; 
There's the short snappy kiss, 

And the tight-pressing kiss. 
And the long-lasting kiss. 

But of all the kisses, 
That Misses do kiss. 

There never was one 
Like the fat juicy kiss ! 

So all the world over. 

Where Misses are Misses, 
We seldom find one 

That don't like her kisses. 
Now Misses like kisses 

Because they are Misses. 
Could a Miss be a Miss 

Without liking a kiss ? 




121 



NIGHT. 

O beautiful, beautiful, star-entranced Night! 

How wondrously pure is thy nebulous light. 
How perfect thy form, and how peaceful thy 
face! 

Thy radiant soul rounding infinite space. 

Through ages unnumbered thy myriad eyes 

Have gazed from the depths of the measureless 
skies. 

Thy spirit of tenderness broods o'er the deep — 
A universe wrapped in a mantle of sleep. 

Beneath the rich folds of thy jewel-crowned 
dome, 
Enshrouded in darkness, uncounted worlds 
roam. 
Beyond the dull waves of thine ocean of blue 
Our hope builds a haven for hearts that ring 
true. 



122 



NIGHT. 

Though time's gloomy shadows sweep over thy 
face, 
No scar mars thy beauty nor ruffles thy grace. 
O'er sorrow and shame, and a world's weeping 
woe, 
With love's own compassion thy bosom bends 
low. 

O Night, placid Night. How serene, tranquil, 
true ! 
Encompass me round with thy waters of blue. 
Flow into my soul, thou, sweet spirit of calm ! 
My burning heart soothe with thy soft healing 
balm. 




k 



123 



ROSALIE. 

Sweet Rosalie, sweet Rosalie, 

How beautifully fair! 
Thy lovely form I long to see — 

Thy golden, golden hair. 

When Nature made thee, Rosalie, 
She made thee true and true ; 

Each part she wrought as perfectly 
As heaven's rounding blue. 

With sunny smile she touched thy face, 

Lit up thy heart with love ; 
She arched thy bosom's snowy grace, 

More soft than down of dove. 

Within some field of perfect skies, 

Or ocean's peaceful hue ; 
She found the secret of thine eyes, 

That made thee tender, true. 



124 



ROSALIE. 

Beyond the evening gates ajar, 
Where sun and planets dip ; 

She caught the passion of a star. 
And set it on thy lip. 

Ah, Rosalie, sweet Rosalie, 
Couldst thou but love me still ! 

Each rising thought would be of thee, 
Each look obey thy will. 

Too dainty thou to linger long, 
Beneath earth's changing skies ; 

An angel bore thee in a song, 
To fields of paradise. 

O passion pure, divinely pure ! 

That led me to thy feet; 
O cruel fate that stole thee sure' ! 

But left a memory sweet. 




125 



LET IN THE SUNSHINE. 

Let in the sunshine — let in the Hght ! 

Drive out the darkness, the spirit of night: 
Throw up the windows, and fling wide the door, 
Springtime has come again just as of yore. 

Let in the sunshine — let in the light. 

Drive out the dampness, the chill, and the 
blight ; 

Open the attic, the cellar, and hall, 

Chase grinning shadows from ceiling and wall. 

Let in the sunshine — let in the light, 

Make the home airy, and cheerful, and bright ; 
Germs of dread sickness that lurk in the gloom. 

Fly with swift feet before health's rosy bloom. 

Let in the sunshine — let in the light, 

Bid smiling Plenty swing low in her flight ; 

Banish gaunt specters by poverty sent — 
Happiness comes when the heart is content. 

Let in the sunshine — let in the light. 

Drive out the wrong with the arrows of right ; 

Lift up the soul overburdened with care, 
Hope follows fast on the heels of despair. 

126 



LET IN THE SUNSHINE. 

Let in the sunshine — let in the light, 
Lead blinded eyes to a nobler sight; 

Drive narrow thoughts from the bigoted brain, 
Knowledge half learned makes the ignorant 
vain. 

Let in the sunshine — let in the light, 

Humble proud arrogance, conquer dark spite ; 
Quench the hot passions of lust and of greed, 

Pour drops of kindness in life's bitter mead. 

Let in the sunshine — let in the light, 

Vanquish bold Error with Truth's magic 
might ; 

Smother the embers of envy and hate, 
Make even justice rule first in the State. 

Let in the sunshine — let in the light, 

Hurl bloody strife from her pinnacled height ; 

Open the portals to white wings of Peace — 
Love reigning Victor, all conflict must cease. 




127 



THE DYING OLD YEAR. 

Gone, gone, 

Eternally gone — 
The Old Year forever hath left me! 

My soul, my soul, 

Sad, sad is my soul, 
O Time, of a friend, hath bereft me ! 

Ah, years of my youth, 

I love you in truth; 
But, years of my youth how you leave me ! 

I listlessly float 

On Time's shattered boat ; 
But, the wild winged currents deceive me. 

Yet, I'm standing to-night 

On a pinnacled height — 
The summit of all the ages. 

From the height serene, 

I survey the scene, 
As I turn over history's pages. 

Though dull be my ear, 

Yet I fancy I hear 
The wail of Niobied nations ; 

And dim be my eye. 

Still I seem to descry 
The goal of all earthly creations. 

128 



THE DYING OLD YEAR. 

Though nations may rise 

Like stars in the skies, 
Their mission fulfilled they must perish. 

But columns of sand 

Are the works of man's hand, 
Though he jealously guard them and cherish. 

The poet may sing, 

And reign may the king — 
Their labors corrode with the rust; 

The warrior may slay 

And the penitent pray, 
Yet, all are the children of dust. 

Vain, vain to be proud, 

For oblivion's shroud 
Soon throws its dark shadow around us ; 

And buried in the deep, 

Forgotten we sleep. 
Where naught can disturb or confound us. 

When the Past I survey, 

I pause but to say — 

Weep not for its sin and its sorrow ; 

But let the old go, 

With its wailing and woe, 

And rejoice in the New- Year to-morrow. 

129 



THE GIRL IN THE WINDOW. 

While strolling one day through the throngs on 
Broadway, 

I espied in the window a sweet little face ; 
'Twas the face of a girl, with a neat little curl, 

And a form of most elegant grace. 

I 

CHORUS 

Vm in love with the girl in the window ; 

She's natty, she's neat, she is pretty and sweet ; 

She's always so shy, when I come strolling by — 
I'm in love with the girl in the window. 



Her eyes they are blue and I know she is true, 
On her cheek is the blush of the roses in bloom ; 

She is dressed in a gown, 'tis the richest in town — 
On her bonnet's an exquisite plume. 

The boys they all say, she's the pride of Broad- 
way ; 
She's the sweetest and fairest of all of the 
belles ; 
And the charm of her smile would an angel 
beguile — 
She is wooed by the swellest of swells. 

130 



THE GIRL IN THE WINDOW. 

I call her my dove, and I know she's in love; 
For, the smile that she gave me I'll never for- 
get; 
But, I've learned to her shame, she treats all just 
the same — 
She's a heartless, unblushing coquette. 



^ 




MY WIFE. 

4 She's the apple of my eye, 

The jewel of my heart — 
I didn't think we'd marry, 
But we couldn't live apart. 




131 



MOTHER'S MAGICAL GARDEN. 

More wonderful spot never yet has been seen, 
Than Mother's own Garden, all mantled in green. 

A neat little patch — thirty paces or more — 
Just over the fence from the old kitchen door. 

With top-pointed pailings, and running-board 

wide, 
The spot is encompassed well on every side. 

Within this rare Garden as you shall soon learn, 
There dwells a strange People, of curious turn.- 

The Pea, in distress, with rank envy grows green, 
When forced to look up to the towering Bean. 

The Onion must sleep all alone in her bed ; 
Her breath, says the Gourd, would awaken the 
dead. 

The Horse-radish burns for a language to tell, 
How Garlic can raise such a horrible smell. 

132 



mother's magical garden. 



The Beet, in her modesty, blushes blood-red. 
To see the proud Cabbage all turning to head. 

Potato peeps out, with a tear in his eye. 
As Cantalope hurries so heedlessly by. 

The Cucumber knows what a pickle he's in. 
When told the Tomato's too big for her skin. 

The Radish gets hot, and the Raspberry red. 
When the Rhubarb makes such a wonderful 
spread. 

Sweet-anise is comely, and bright for her age, 
But none ever lived half so wise as the Sage. 

The Straw-berry blushes with modest surprise. 
To hear the green Goose-berry boast of her size. 

The mealy-mouthed Corn stands a-holding his ear, 
When Hops begin praising the beauties of beer. 

The Balck-berry sits all alone in the shade, 
And wonders why Tansy and Turnips were made. 

The Lettuce looks pale, and the Celery sad. 
When Red-pepper tells what a hot time she had. 

133 



mother's magical garden. 

The pert Sweet-potato looks up with a sneer, 
And asks the young Peach-tree what he's doing 
here. 

When Currant says softly, "The Grape's full of 

wine," 
The green Water-melon falls olf of his vine. 

Poor little Petunia! She's left all alone; 
And nobody cares, for her beauty has flown. 

While each thinks he's best, they are clearly 

agreed. 
That all are above the contemptible Weed. 

So lovely they live, in a Garden of Bliss ; 
The Sun every morning, greets all with a kiss. 




134 



THE SIGH OF THE DEMI-MONDE. 

I. 

Forlorn, alone, in deepest gloom she sits! 
Her form, her costly rags but half conceal ; 
Un-kempt, her hair falls down in dangling curls ; 
Her thoughts, her vacant features ill reveal. 
Upon her pallid brow is perched — despair; 
Her drooping eyes in burning sockets roll ; 
Her parched lip, her faded cheek but tell, 
The inward aching of a sighing soul. 
Unmoved : in silent meditation wrapt ! 
She speaks. Unto herself she tells her woe. 

"Last night I reigned a jeweled queen — 
In silks and satins robed. Upon 
My bosom burned the sparkling gem. 
From laughing eyes beamed radiance 
Of lust. Unto my nod and beck 
Each fawning suitor bowed, and kissed 
My hand in deference. My will 
Was law ; none dared me dis-obey. 
Tho' queen of glitt'ring hell the thought 
Of queen o'er joyed my soul. 

I clinked 
The fatal glass that turned my brain, 
And robbed me of my sceptered power t 

135 



THE SIGH OF THE DEMI-MONDE. 

The glist'ning goblet sat enthroned. 

Each draught of death distilled that coursed 

My veins, but stirred the passions of 

My soul to deeper lust. My tongue 

Untethered, leaped in song. Spurred on 

By flatt'ry's artful smile, it touched 

The basest cords of ribaldry. 

From lips once pure came forth un-bid 

The vulgar tale, the oath profane, 

The foul indecent jest. Into 

The dizzy dance myself I flung. 

Excitement fed the flames by hot 

Intoxication lit. Each act, 

A child of wanton thought, betrayed 

The lech'rous mind. By devil's drug, 

The bitter absinthe crazed, relief 

I sought in vile narcotic fumes. 

O'erpowered at last, proud reason from 

Her throne stepped down, and in her stead 

Reigned maddened revelry. By seas 

Storm-tossed o'erwhelmed, my mind, a bark 

Distressed, capsized ; and 'neath the dark 

oblivious waters sunk. 

Next morn 
I 'woke. I 'woke to see — alas ! 
I saw the cursed thing I am. 

136 



THE SIGH OF THE DEMI-MONDE. 

My body racked with pain, upon 
Its couch Hcentious, lay. Beside 
Me dozed in drunken sleep, the brute 
More bestial than myself, that wrought 
My woe. In shame I gazed upon 
My ruin, and myself I loathed. 
From snowy peaks of virtue down 
I fell to lowest depths of vice. 
The flower-strewn paths of purity 
Forsook, to wallow in the mire 
Of base debauch'ry. 

Now, 'tis now, 
I feel the reptile sting of sin ! 
Remorse like hungry wolves gnaws at 
My soul. Grim conscience, rousing from 
Her sleep, with bony fingers points 
Me to my doom. Would, God, 'twere all 
A dream — a dream to vanish at 
The birth of dawn ! But no. 'Tis not 
A dream, but awful truth, most stern 
Reality. I see, I see, 
Alas ! too late I see the hand — 
The cruel fate that leads me on. 
Lo! I, an out-cast, shunned, despised — 
The slave and sport of lustful men ; 
Ordained of hell to sell my soul 

137 



THE SIGH OF THE DEMI-MONDE. 

In drops of shame. The door of hope 
Swings to. Bereft of all that makes 
Life sweet, I drink the bitter dregs 
Of dis-obedience." 

II. 

Overcome with grief, she sinks in anguish down ;: 
The burning tear-drops tell their own sad tale. 
Her 'waking spirit sees the horrid gloom, 
The dark abyss, the sin-cursed, dreadful vale. 
The poisoned darts of sorrow pierce her heart,. 
Upon her head the fires of penance glow. 
Her soul in dire distress, feels every pang 
Of angels plunged from heaven to hell below. 
But ne'er was depth so deep, nor darkness e'er 
So dark, but mounting soul could upward climb, 
And catch a glimpse of that pure gleam of hope,. 
That falls sun-kissed across the peaks of time. 
So she, from depths Tartarean, looks up ; 
While o'er her face sad-visaged breaks a smile, 
Like moon beams bursting forth from ink- 
rimmed clouds. 
To cheer the night, and sleeping hours beguile. 
Each pleasing thought begets a pleasing look. 
The tongue is but the herald of the brain — 
Wing-footed Hermes bearing in his wand 
Swift messages of joy or anxious pain. 

138 



THE SIGH OF THE DEMI-MONDE. 

Again her lips betoken speech. Her voice 
Betrays the sweetened mind, the hopeful heart. 

"Why linger here, by wickedness 
Hemmed in, and waste a life designed 
For higher things, when just beyond 
Stands Duty holding in her hand 
The crown of happiness? Then hence 
I'll fly ; no foot-prints leave behind, 
And backward turn to those fair fields, 
Where youth found blissful paradise. 
I'll dwell among the flowers ; and with 
Their fragrance drive from out my mind 
The memories of an ill-spent past. 
Each morn, I'll tune my heart anew 
To sing, with Nature's choir a song 
Of purest melody. The hills 
Shall echo back my maiden shouts 
Of joy. The tangled wood shall know 
Me as of yore ; and every bird 
That flits and sings shall sing to me. 
I'll troll the running brooks ; and watch 
The sporting minnows dart and flee ; 
Or leaning o'er the brink, b^^hold 
My own calm features mirrored in 
The pool below. Each hour I'll live 

139 



THE SIGH OF THE DEMI-MONDE. 

In strict accord with Nature's rule. 

Refreshing sleep shall bless the night. 

With gladsome smile I'll greet the dawn ; 

And follow in his gorgeous train 

The glorious king of day. My brow 

Shall wear the beaded drops of toil ; 

And honest labor crown my board. 

From crystal springs health's cooling draught 

I'll draw. The fleeting breezes, me, 

Their wings shall lend to fan my cheeks. 

I'll gaze upon the sun-set ; and 

Within its glowing passion sink 

My soul, till every sin-wrought scar 

Shall melt away, and passing, leave 

Me pure. 

How like an angel damned. 
From hell to heaven drawn back am I, 
An out-cast seeking home ! Yet will 
I go ; and trust to fate that they 
Who loved me once may love me still. 
Perchance they ne'er will know the life 
I live ; or knowing, dis-believe. 
The guileless eye, in others sees 
Its own reflected innocence., 
'Tis things we know disturbs the mind ; 
From things un-known no troubles rise. 

140 



THE SIGH OF THE DEMI-MONDE. 

How sinful to deceive, and hide 
Our shame in robes of purity! 
Yet, better to deceive than wrench 
The souls of those we love ; or press 
Upon their brow the thorny crown 
Of sorrows. So, beneath a veil 
Of outward virtue I'll conceal 
My sins, and walk among my own 
In simple child-like modesty; 
Some act of charity, or deed 
Of kindness do, to seal the lips 
Of those who might speak ill of me. 
To all who point me out the straight 
And narrow way, I'll lend an ear 
Of strictest heed. O, could it be, 
That living thus, I might retrieve 
My former self, and win again 
That pure and noble love which bade 
Me once embrace a life of sweet 
Sincerity ! 

Ah ! No. It ne'er 
Can be. I must forego the bliss 
I crave. 'Twere better one should live 
In hell, and suffer all its woes, 
Than bring disgrace to humble hearts 
In homes of happiness. Why search 

141 



THE SIGH OF THE DEMI-MONDE. 

For gold in heaps of worthless dross ; 
Or precious stones in piles of murk? 
For, what I am, I am ; and nought 
That I can do can change me from 
Myself. Did I assume to wear 
A mask, 'twould only be a mask. 
Deception may deceive itself, 
But seldom those it would deceive. 
My looks betray me to the world ; 
Nor can I from my looks escape. 
The face is but the mirror of 
The soul ; reflecting back the thoughts 
We think, the things we do. A child 
Can read me like a book, and tell 
Me all I am. How can I bear 
The searching glance, the proud disdain 
Of virtuous eyes ? Twould wither up 
My soul, and make me crawl away 
And die, like serpents in the sand. 
There's no forgiveness for my siti 
Among my kind. 'Tis justly so; 
For virtue's woman's crown, and once 
'Tis lost, her kingdom's in the dust. 
I've nothing more to live for ; though 
I've loved, all love from me has flown. 
My passion, once more beautiful 

142 



THE SIGH OF THE DEMI-MONDE. 

Than snow, lies smouldering now beneath 

The burned-out cinder-heaps of kist. 

There's naught but pity left ; and what 

Is pity, but the crumb of scorn 

Which goodness flings to wretchedness. 

I'll not endure this living death; 

I'll die. This very night I'll drink 

The poisoned cup, and end it all. 

But stop ! To leap from hell I know 

To hell un-known ? — 'Twould chance my soul's 

Eternity. Lo! here I am; 

By fetters bound I can not break. 

O God, my God, be there a way 

To loose me from this awful doom 

But point it out ; where e'er it leads 

I'll follow it !" 

III. 
Though pity be but scorn, yet pity is 
The wages earned by woman's luckless fall. 
A thousand roads lead downward to the halls 
Of gilded death ; all have their trav'lers ; all 
Their charms ; the gates that enter there swing in, 
Not out ; once shut, fate throws away the keys. 
A thoughtless world is oft an unjust judge. 
The fact of woman's fall is all it sees ; 

143 



THE SIGH OF THE DEMI-MONDE. 

Nor seeks the cause ; nor little cares how strong 
The tempter's snare; how weak the heart that 

fell. 
Yet, none would dare dissolve the moral law ; 
And none would deem it wise o^ hold it well, 
To bridge the broad abyss 'twixt virtue and 
The fallen state. 'Twould make our daughters 

whores 
And bring upon the race the fatal curse 
Of Sodom. Well that all who walk the shores 
Of unknown seas, should sound the depths 

before 
They plunge. A wall of fire around the heart 
Of virtue is foreknowledge of the dire 
Results of sin. Though 'tis the human part 
To rise in wrath, and unrelenting be 
When goodness sinks to vice, divine it seems 
To yield forgiveness to the fallen soul 
And point the way to betterment. Man dreams, 
God hears, and from the formless wave rounds 

out 
A thought. O, could it be that he might hear 
The deep heart-throbs of her who, helpless, 

writhes 
In agony ; or sound of falling tear ; 
And all transmute to sweet and joyous strains 

144 



THE SIGH OF THE DEMI-MONDE. 

Of blessed peace! The path that upward leads 

From pools of prostitution unto hills 

Of high respect, must traverse winding meads 

Beyond the distant ken of human eyes. 

He sees, and He alone, whose vision sweeps 

The universe, and measures all its shores 

Yet stoops to comfort every soul that weeps, 

To banish black despair, and hope instil 

In hearts o'ercast with grief. Behold ! The 

spark 
Divine now thrills her soul. Joy trembles in 
The scale 'twixt hope and fear; the clouds once 

dark 
Seem borne away by hands unseen ; her brow 
Lifts up; a deeper luster lights her eye; 
While o'er her face a gleam triumphant breaks 
Like bursting beams across the morning sky. 
Her mind lends wings unto her tongue to bear 
The glorious message that her heart would tell ! 

'T have it now ; 'tis simple when 

'Tis seen. The thought, though sad, is sweet; 

But whence it came I can not tell. 

A hope — a flash; so like a dream! 

It changes all within, and makes 

Me happy ere the task begins. 

145 



THE SIGH OF THE DEMI-MONDE. 

How easy 'tis to leave this den 
Of vice, when once the way is clear! 
'Tis true my home, my friends, shall see 
My face no more. I must forego 
The pleasures they would bring. 'Tis not 
For us to know what course our lives 
Will take ; what purpose lies behind 
Each act ; what good or ill we may 
Bestow. The hand that guides the stars 
Guides me. I will ; but there's a will 
That over rules, and I obey. 
Stern fate sits at her loom ; from warp 
And woof of good and evil deeds 
Weaves out a life. Who knows but all 
The evil I have done may be 
A part of greater good? 

This night 
I turn my back forever on 
The wicked life. To shield me from 
A prying world, I'll don the veil. 
No more I'll pluck the bitter fruit 
Of sinful selfishness ; but walk 
Alone where duty calls, or love 
Points out the way. The up-turned face 
Of Charity shall claim me as 
Her own. How noble 'tis to live 

146 



THE SIGH OF THE DEMI-MONDE. 

For Others' lives; to lay a balm 

To hearts distressed ; to lift a soul 

In need ! The world of woe shall be 

My field of daily toil. There will 

I sow and reap, and garner up 

A harvest, rich in tears of joy. 

And blessings filled with gratitude. 

Amid the battle's roar, I'll bear 

The cup to burning lips ; and stanch 

The flowing wound. The gloom that hangs 

O'er prison walls, at my approach, 

Shall melt away like mist before 

The morn. The scant and barren board 

Of poverty shall bloom with hope. 

And groan beneath the weight of wealth 

From Plenty's horn out-poured. I'll bend 

O'er beds of sickness, and with deeds 

Of love inspire new faith in hearts 

Down-cast. The somber halls of death 

Shall know my step ; and souls bereaved 

Perceive my touch of tenderness. 

I'll clasp in mine the hand of shame, 

And bid my fallen sister rise. 

Wherever wounds are bleeding; hearts 

Are aching ; souls are sighing ; there 

I'll be — to heal, to soothe, to bless. 

147 



THE SIGH OF THE DEMI-MONDE. 

'Tis true! Once willed a work's half done. 

How sweet the inward thrill of high 

Resolve ! 'Tis nobleness of thought 

Makes noble minds. Though chained in sin 

The soul to lofty purpose climbs ; 

But freedom-winged it upward sweeps 

To heights undreamed. From sullen sloughs 

Of vice I'll rise; and rock by rock 

Mount skyward, till each summit's gained ; 

And there again 'mid starlit peaks 

Of virtue dwell. 'Tis done, 'tis done ! 

The battle's won betwixt my soul 

And siin; and now I go to wear 

The laurel wreath of victorv. 

Farewell, O base and sin stained Past — 

Farewell, farewell !" 

IV. 

Who conquers self has conquered all ; the world 
Falls suppliant at his feet. O'er fetid fields 
The fairest flowers blow ; through darkest souls 
Shine deeds of purest charity. He wields 
A double sword, who battles for the right 
With weapons steeled in wrong. In every heart 
There's good and evil sown ; with equal chance 
They blossom forth, and bear in equal part ; 

148 



THE SIGH OF THE DEMI-MONDE. 

But, choked by weeds of circumstance, the strong 

Out-grows, and for a season casts its fruit 

Alone ; till comes a biting frost that nips 

The bud and kills the bloom ; thence from its root 

The weaker sends a tender flower which sheds 

A pure but lasting fragrance over all. 

The shores of Time are strewn with shattered 

masts, 
And spars, and shredded sails, and timbers tall, 
Of souls ship-wrecked upon the hidden rocks 
In life's deep sea. The light-house sends no 

gleam 
To eyes bent outward to the rolling main ; 
But landward bound, it lends its beacon beam 
To light the wave-tossed mariner to shore. 

We stand above the sweep of Time; 

We hear the voice ; we clasp the hand ; 

We feel the touch of all mankind. 

We are a part of all we meet; 

We give to others of our souls ; 

We share our hearts for others' woes — 

With every gift we larger grow. 

THE END. 



149 



DEC 1« ^«^1 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



OPC 1§ IQ,, 



